


The last chance

by H7Ele



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brighton - Freeform, Football, High School, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Multi, OC, Original Story - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Slash, Soccer, UK - Freeform, Yaoi, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9671291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H7Ele/pseuds/H7Ele
Summary: When you're 18 you you neither never know what exactly you want from life, nor who you want to become. People at this age spend their time wondering and getting doors shut in their faces, and can't make up their mind until the very last moment.Leeroy, on the other hand, grew up believing he could become exactly who he wants to be: a football player. He has never wanted and dreamed of anything else. Studying doesn't really suit him. His conceit leads him to destroy his high school team's dreams right during the championship final. The teammates he has let down the most are those who are now about to  graduate. There won't be another chance for them, it's their last ride. In the end, they're going to be either winners or losers. It'll be up to Leeroy, who will have to control his own ego to get along with the team's goalkeeper. In his opinion, Lance is the real cause of their defeat. Too calm, too self-confident.But their relationship will have to change to let the both of them and the rest of the team to be champions.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The last chance](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/264035) by dreammoresleepless. 



10:49PM  
After football, zapping on tv was his favourite hobby: he spent his days like that, lying on the couch like an idiot, while looking at the screen and drinking iced Red Bull. An old replica of The Robinson was broadcasted, but it did not really matter to him: he just needed to hear voices and see random images move. He had been wearing the same pair of soccer shorts for three days now, and he had not even shaved yet; his big, black eyeglasses did not contribute to improve his appearence too. Rather, they really made it worse. That was the state in which he ended up everytime he lost a football match. Or, worse, after having lost the championship, which had occured for two consecutive years now. He was totally demoralized, he did not even have the strenght to switch the channel, even though he hated those old tv series. He had spent those last days thinking about what he did wrong during the last championship matches, and he had reached the same conclusion every single time: it was the coach's fault; he had replaced him during the semi-final, so he could not give his best. In his head, that argument was flawless, but actually it was bullshit and, even worse thing, he had not really realized it yet. He could not help but curse against his team's goalkeeper, Lance Stark. He never managed to get on with him. He recalled some moments of that game and the goal of defeat, thinking very little would have been enough to win. Yet, he could not do anything. Although he was the best player that team had ever had, he could not prevent that goal; not either that idiot of a goalkeeper had succeeded.  
He threw the now empty can of Red Bull against the door because of the anger and the frustration going to his head. “Stupid Leeroy!” he said aloud. He often used to insult himself, and in the last two years he had even got worse; if anyone heard him in those moments, he would be taken for a fool. Because of his behavior, his mother was desperate. She could not understand how a boy of his age could spend all the time after a ball, instead of chasing after girls. More than once she had told him: “Do you have sex once in a while? All this repression can't do anything but hurt you.” And every single time, Leeroy told her to go to hell.  
That night, for the umpteenth time, Amanda, his mother, sneaked into his room to stick her nose into his business. He heard a knock at the door and he prayed his mother would not come in. That woman always tried to build a mother-son relationship which would not be based only on Mother, I'm hungry or Mother gimme money, I'm going out. But, according to Leeroy, any other type of relationship was impossible with her. She was “particular”, made in her own way and not either he, her own son, could understand her.  
He tried to ignore her, as usual; perhaps she would go back to her bedroom to read one of her stupid, beloved chick lits.  
Unfortunately, that was not his lucky night: Amanda, Super Amy for her Tumblr and Twitter friends, made her way into the room, without giving a damn about the 18-year-old's privacy. She was carrying a tray with salad, tomatoes, olives and mozzarella cheese with a glass of orange juice. She laid it on the sidetable, among chocolate and chips wastepapers. Damn her and her obsession with healthy eating, the boy thought.  
“Mum, what do you want?” he asked, at the edge of despair, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Was it too much to ask to be left to his post-game depression? As always, Amanda ignored the guy's acid and insolent tone. He was a boy after all, everything would have been easier with a girl.  
“Smurfie, you look like a girl after her first break-up,” she teased. “I'm taking away all the Red Bull and the other crap, tomorrow you've gotta go to school and to practise. You'd better stop with replicas and go to bed.”  
He hated to be called like that; that woman was really stubborn, she had called him that way since his innocent three years. Could someone hate his own mother? Well, he could. He avoided thinking about having been compared to a girl, because he would have gladly slapped her.  
“We lost the final again, who cares about training?”. He had an unwilling and uninterested tone, but the hard look on his face said quite another thing.  
“But Smurfie, the fault is mainly yours and your friend's...”  
At the mention of that stupid goalkeeper, he heated even more than before: the main reason had not showed up to the last practise was to avoid another fight with Lance and getting suspended from school before summer break. They had never been friends; at most they were teammates, but just that thought was enough to made him fly into a rage. They were incompatible, nothing else to say.  
“We are not friends,” he remarked indignantly.  
“Okay Smurfie, but, you see... if you two can't do teamwork, it's inevitable that you risk to concede goals. As if that wasn't enough, you insult and argue like little kids even during matches. May I know what he did to you? Or what did you do to him? "  
Amanda was really sick of seeing her son act like a girl on her period every time he set foot on the field. She knew it was his bad attitude to blame; he was unable to think before speaking or before doing something.  
“He's just an asshole who doesn't know shit about football. He thinks a lot of himself just because he's quite good.”  
“You're an idiot, you know it?” his mother replied, with a serious glance.  
The boy shrugged, and Amanda gave him a little punch on the head for that, of course not hurting him.  
"What did I do to deserve a son like this?" she asked desperately.  
“It's because of all the junk you read and write, you're haunting me,” he almost shouted, leaping up.  
“What does this have to do with my job now?” she asked, touched on a raw nerve.  
Leeroy sighed resignedly, trying to reason with that woman was useless. Amanda lived in her own world, she relied on stupid handbooks in order to try to understand the son, or rather, she tried to psychoanalyze him everytime she could.  
“Nothing, mind leaving me alone now?  
“Only if you promise me you'll go to school tomorrow and you'll try to act like an adult, not like a caveman. If sometimes you don't make a compromise, you'll never get anywhere.”  
Leeroy laughed ironically, she could not ask him something like that for real.  
“Are you kidding me? I'm going to smash his face if I see him again.”  
“Yeah, at least I'll have to spend another night in the hospital like last year. So, pin head, you'll do as I told you, okay?”  
It was certainly hard to make his mother forget something when she set her mind on it; she was even more stubborn than him, and she was even more unbearable than him. He did not want to become like her. He shuddered at that thought. He sighed in resignation, he had to do as she said, otherwise she would not get out of the bloody way.  
"I don't promise anything.Let's just say I'll avoid ending up in the hospital like that again,” he said resignedly .  
“It's a good start,” Amanda replied, smiling. “But now go take a shower, you smell like a goat, and you know I hate people who don't care about their personal hygiene. How come you always reduce yourself like this?” she concluded, before giving him good night and walking away, taking with her the empty cans and the curled crips wastepapers.  
Every time, his mother left him stunned because of her speeches; a mother was not supposed to talk like that to her son. He was convinced Amanda would have to spoil him and have him have all he wanted, since he was only child; on the contrary, he found himself to be treated like an idiot. Or rather, so was thinking Leeroy.  
“I was about to forget, Honey Boo Boo... find a pretty girl, you have to let some of that tension off, you would really need it!” she shouted from the hallway.  
“Go to hell!” he replied. That woman was impossible.  
“Honey Boo Boo, you shouldn't be ashamed because you're still a virgin! You know that, right?” she asked in a apprehensive tone.  
“Go die!” he yelled, full-throated. He would not wish a mother like that not even on his worst enemy. He had prayed so many times that she had to move out for work, like his father. But nothing, she had planted her roots in that city and would never uprooted, not even for a better job opportunity. He could not understand how he had managed to arrive safe and sound to his eighteen years. At least, he could considered myself almost immortal. If he had not died because of Amanda's bullshit, who would have killed him? He smiled resignedly before turning the TV off and going to the bathroom to take a shower. After that, he went down to the kitchen to prepare some chamomille tea, he really needed it: it would have been hard for him to fall asleep that night, after all the Red Bull he had swallowed down without restraint. He already knew he was going to fall asleep in class the next day, or worse, during practise. Back in his room, he put his cup down on the table, waiting for it to cool a bit and resigning himself to eat what Amanda had brought him in the meanwhile. He sighed for the hundredth time that night, between sips of chamomille tea and bites of salad. He found himself thinking back to that damn lost game. The defeat stung and hurt more than all the bunch of punches he had taken. The others insisted on repeating it was because of his behaviour both during training practises and during matches, but he was convinced those were all crap. Lance was also to blame, since he always set him on starting a fight and insulting him for his unbearable attitude. But Lance was never said anything.  
In the semifinals, the coach had replaced him with one of the seniors, because he had started arguing with the goalkeeper by the first two minutes of the game already. It was frustrating for him having to sit on the bench all the time, watching that game, but the team had managed to win anyway. Then, unfortunately, his replacement injured and could not play any longer, so the coach reluctantly had to put Leeroy on the field again. It was what cost the victory to the team; during the first time he had behaved well, without even considering Lance. They had begun to fight again with the start of the second half, slowly leading to their defeat. The overtime was a true agony. They lost 3 to 1. The only goal – a really nice one, in Leeroy's opinion - was made by one of the seniors, thanks to a penalty. The thought that they had not done enough tormented him. Leeroy had tried to save the game until the very last, but it was no good, and to make matters worse, they had even lost their goalkeeper: the ongoing quarrel had bothered Lance, so he was no longer able to think clearly then. It was unbearable to feel so helpless, and even more unbearable to see that Lance could not save almost anything. Everything had gone to shit, all their efforts and training were of no use. He still remembered Lance's words after the final whistle : “We didn't do enough”. His gaze was like a knife stuck in his chest, he had the feeling of having disappointed him and, in turn, he felt disappointed by Lance, by the game, by everything.  
After the game, Leeroy had not returned to school, he had been holed up in his room to contemplate the defeat and to act like a crybaby, without any strength to pull himself together. For him he world had stopped spinning with the final whistle, so sensitive to failures. The first day he tried to absolve himself by blaming the other defensers and Lance. The second day, on the contrary, he did not think of football: he was almost resigned to the idea of becoming a psychologist as his mother; perhaps with her knowledge she could have put him at the head of a studio. On the third day, he wanted to cancel his existence and merge with the couch and the TV .  
What raised him from his depression, in addition to his mother's speeches, was to conclude that the following year would have been the last one with so many good players. They still had a whole year to show their abilities, one more year to play in a strong team before all the next seniors graduated.  
He did not want to prove anything, but he had to admit that theirs was one of the best teams in the national student league. They were supposed to win every game without too many complications, but it was never like that because of their inability to cooperate.

 

He ended up listening to his mother and going back to school for the last week. He arrived at the main entrance on time.  
The school was a two-storey building made of red brick and creamy walls, not very big but equipped with two large gyms and an outdoor football field in the backyard. The only thing that really worked in that school were sports clubs; classes were taught by listless teachers over their 50s who had almost lost all desire to teach. Only the best pupils were followed, while the others, like Leeroy, were left to themselves. Thanks to the support of the PE and the biology teachers, he had managed to be admitted to the next class by a hair's breadth. No wonder: Leeroy just wanted to pass without having to put too much effort, his only priority was to attend the football club. That day, the weather was threatening rain, the clouds that covered the sky were really alarming. Maybe they would not have practise, Leeroy was thinking, looking at the sky with a grimace. He had not even brought an umbrella; if it had started to rain, he have would come home soaked. “That sucks,” he sighed.  
"Hey, Roy! Have you been fooling 'round as usual?”  
Leeroy turned, surprised by the slightly Italian accent of the voice that had called him. He took his time with the guy for what he had just said. In the end, it was illogical to think that no one would ever realize his "strange" absences after each defeat.  
“I have not, Daniele,” he replied hatefully.  
“Sure. Did you grow a beard 'cause you like it? Come on, don't make me laugh!”  
“I did it for a change,” he tried to justify himself.  
"Roy, you also have dark circles down to your jaw. If you had shaved, I bet I'd see them."  
Leeroy could not help but think that the irony of the young Italian was really nerve-wracking.  
“I'm also glad to see you.”  
“C'mon, don't be so obnoxious!”  
"Not everyone is sunny like you so early in the morning,” he sighed in exasperation. The Italian was really stressful, he never stopped talking and always said what he thought. Most of the time, Leeroy wondered why he had not beaten him yet.  
"However, the coach wants to see you... And so does Miles. You know, he's really pissed at you. The other day he wouldn't stop insulting you!”  
Of course he's pissed off , but why not at the other jerk?, was Leeroy's thought.  
"Geez . I'll have to avoid him 'till practise. I don't want to hear him barking in the hallways.”  
Daniel laid a hand on the friend's shoulder, in confidence. "Just know that this time I won't pretend not to know where you hid. I'm also pissed off about the game, Roy."  
The Italian looked at the English with an evil grin. Stupid proud Spaghetti-eater. Just because he was a decent centre-forward, was he to get angry with him too?!  
"The fault's not only mine. It's also that asshole's,” he blurted out by showing his teeth in a grimace.  
“Lance has already talked to Miles, you're the only one missing.”  
“Fuck.”  
At that moment, the bell rang. The defenser prayed not to bump into the captain in the hallways.

After going up the stairs that led to the second floor, the first thing Leeroy noticed was a brown-haired head, poking out of the crowd of students, right in front of the door of his own classroom. He paused on the last step, petrified: Reginald Miles was really waiting for him. The urge and the desire to run away and hide in the toilet downstairs was suddenly a lot.  
“Shit.”  
“Wow,” Daniele said. “He must be really pissed off if he's already there.”  
“You didn't see me,” he turned, ready to scram.  
The Italian boy promptly grabbed the other by for the shoulder bag. “Uf you're going to hide downstairs, forget it, 'cause I'll send him to seek you.”  
“You bastard!” Leeroy replied, hissing through his teeth.”And you'd say you're friend!”  
Miles was so busy talking to who-knows-who that he had not even noticed their presence on the stairs. Leeroy could really escape and put off the captain's roasting, but Daniele kept stopping him.  
With a tug, the English boy finally broke free from the friend's grip and ran down the stairs, running over the unfortunate people who were on his way.  
Daniele could not help but think that Roy was just first-class jerk. Right at that time, Miles turned toward the stairs, looking around for the team's problematic defenser. All he found was Daniele, who greeted him with a sly smile and one hand pointing to the stairs. Among the many things that Reginald Miles hated, there were cowards, and Leeroy Rogers was one of the worst kind.

The defender was running as if he could not be able to see the dawn of the next day. He excluded going to hole up in the toilet, opting instead for the janitor's close; he was sure nobody would come looking for him there. He would wait until the sound of the second bell, then he would go straight to his classroom. Miles certainly would have been in his for a while. He was so taken with his reasoning that he was not looking where he he was going, nor was he paying attention to those before him. He inevitably smashed into something like 6 feet 4 inches of muscles. He fell to the ground due to the sudden crash, and immediately started to curse like a longshoreman. He had to immediately resume his escape, otherwise he was dead.  
“You're an idiot.”  
At the sound of that voice, the blood rushed to his head. Out of all the people in that school, did he just have to bump into the one he hated the most?  
"Do you ever watch where you're going while walking?"  
"If Miles finds me, I swear that I'll work you over, Lance, then get out of my face, I'm not in the mood!”  
His return to school was already more eventful than expected: at first Daniele, then Miles, and, cherry on the top, the red-haired idiot now.  
"None of my business."  
That reply really struck him. Lance was the kind of person who never bothered attacking, but he always ended up fighting with him . So why did he not react to his insults? Was he really that disappointed after the match?  
Lance turned away, heading for his class and leaving a half puzzled, half pissed off Leeroy sitting on the ground like an idiot.  
"What the fuck ..." he said, narrowing his eyes. Since when did he behave like that? Leeroy pulled himself to his feet, determined to run after him and strike out at him as he had never done in his life,  
but someone grabbed him by the shirt. "What the fuck do you want?" Since when did behave like this? Leeroy pulled himself to his feet, determined to run after him and fill the barrel as he had never done in his life, but someone grabbed him by the shirt. "What the fuck do you want?" he asked furiously, turning. He would have punched anyone, even the principal.  
“You were trying to sneak away, weren't you?” Blood froze in his veins. That bastard of Daniele had betrayed him. Yeah, trust friends!, he thought.  
Miles stared at him with a murderous look that would make anyone's skin crawl. Their captain was really fearsome when he lost patience – which did not really happen that often, actually.  
“I-I wasn't, I had to go to the toilet,” Leeroy promptly replied, praying that the torture would end soon.  
“I'm pleased,” Miles smiled ironically, and that did not bode well. “You will be there at today's practise, won't you?”  
Leeroy nodded, swallowing.  
"You know you'll need to make up for the training days that you missed?"  
"What's the use? The championship is over”, he could not help but reply.  
"Shut up.” The captain's smile turned into a grin. Leeroy wondered how he managed to make those horrifying expressions.  
"You will do as I say. And remember that we still have to talk about the outcome of the last game. Just know that from now onm if you don't follow my instructions to the letter, you'll find yourself sitting on the bench for life.”  
“What the fu - you can't do it! You know I'm too useful to the team!” Leeroy shouted, hit by that threat.  
"I repeat: you will do what I say. Now back in the classroom, you ungrateful.”  
“And what about Lance?" He asked, without even thinking about it. He wanted to know if their fate would be the same, or if the other would receive some special treatment. It was intolerable that the goalkeeper always got away with it, whereas he always found himself in the midst of trouble. "He's none your business, you don't even have to look at him, because if you catch you into a fight again. I sweat you'll be both be bench warmers for life. Did I make myself clear?” His grin widened again. Anyone could see he was holding back from beating the other wildly.  
“Crystal-clear,” he hissed between his teeth.  
He was screwed. He could not beat that bastard for putting him in trouble and for leaving him in the hallway like an idiot.  
"If everything's clear, go to class. See you later, and don't be late." That said, Miles vanished, leaving Leeroy in full tantrum in the hallway, ready to explode at the slightest hint of further hostility towards him. Things were not ever as he wanted. He would make the Italian pay for what he did as soon as he got to class.  
“Fucking school.”

At the end of the day, it hadn't rained yet, so he found himself reluctantly heading to the locker room in the rear yard of the school. The enthusiasm that he had always had when he was on a football field was sucked in by all those mishaps that day.  
"Don't take it personally, Roy. Things happen,” Daniele said, as he walked along with him. In the end, Leeroy didn't even manage to avenge the betrayal because, right after entering the classroom, he was forced to stay in front of the blackboard and to carry out equations on equations for the whole lession. He was physically and psychologically exhausted.  
“Don't say bullshit. They always happen to me.”  
"That's because you have a shitty attitude,” he replied, smiling calmly.  
"It's also your fault if I got into trouble!”  
"Yes, but you can't always run away from your problems. This way you dealt with the problem immediately. Could have been worse!”  
"I'd have rather dealt with Miles later. He's crazy, you know.”  
“Stop whining like a little girl."  
“Stop bugging me.”  
They were the first to arrive at the locker room; not even a trace of the others. Leeroy hoped they were all gone home because of the bad weather. They quickly got changed and went out to wait. The first to arrive was Akel. "Why didn't you wait for me?"  
“You had to finish copying notes and Roy didn't want to wait... well, me neither,” the Italian boy replied to the friend and classmate of Turkish origin.  
“Asshole.”  
“Don't tell me, today I was fed to Reginald,” Leeroy clarified.  
"Don't get angry like that, come on!"  
The others arrived shortly after along with the coach. Leeroy shivered , hoping that he would not lecture him at the end of the practise. Lance and Miles were the last to arrive, and quickly got scolded by their coach.  
“May I know where you were?"  
"Miles was busy flirting with Abigail, as usual,” the goalkeeper replied to tease his friend.  
"It's not true! I just asked if she had come to see us during the final! "  
"I'm not interested in your crap, go change, you are the last!"  
The two obeyed without protesting. The coach was still angry about the game, so they'd better not contradict him.  
The goalkeeper was still mad as well, and had not ceased yet to blame himself for what happened. If the defense collapsed, he was the last man who could still save the game, but he had failed in spite of all his efforts. He did not manage to stay clear-headed and anger had got the better of his usual coolness. He did not care about Leeroy, but he knew it was partially his fault too.  
"We've still got a year left." Miles said, as if he understood the thoughts of his friend.  
"What?"  
The captain had sensed the goalkeeper's mood and he wanted to reassure him: basically, it was also his duty to lift the spirits of the team when something was wrong. Lance could not keep scolding himself, he had to get up and move on. After all, they still had many years to play, even after graduation. He shared his same regrets, but they could not stop at the first hurdle.  
“Don't worry, next year we'll win,” Miles cracked a smile, confident and optimistic.  
“That's not the point. Seniors must be really disappointed, and I would be too if this had been our last chance,” he said, raising his voice in frustration.  
"Do you believe that I never thought of that?"  
The captain's tone was hard and full of regret. Lance kicked the locker, overwhelming with anger. He could not even let off steam by kicking Leeroy, as he had done up to that point.  
“Damn!”  
"Look, let's go training. Let it out during it.”  
The goalkeeper sighed. "Maybe you're right."  
Lance took the thin, black headband rolling up to his wrist, his lucky charm, and put it on his head to hold the locks of red hair away from his eyes.  
"Why don't you get your hair cut? Isn't it annoying that long?” Miles asked.  
“It's good like this. Now let's go."  
Miles nodded. Once outside, they joined the others in the laps around the field.  
“Four more laps, then change the pace,” the coach yelled. The captain ran to the head of the group, giving the pace to the whole team.  
Fortunately, there were no problems during the practise. It went smoothly, without a hitch by anyone. Eventually, however, the coach called all the guys for a speech.  
"Now he'll grab you by your hair", Akel said to Leeroy, before getting closer to the rest of the team and the coach. The defender blanched, thinking that maybe the Turkish was right. He imagined Stan kicking him until the day after.  
"If he doesn't, Miles will for sure,” Daniele added, chuckling.  
“Mind cutting it out?!”  
“I think he's frightened.”  
It was what came with having a Turkish and an Italian as best friends, was what Leeroy was thinking. They teased him and made fun of him at the slightest opportunity.  
"Shut up,” was the exasperated reply of the British guy. He looked for Lance's eyes to check if he was a little worried too about what the coach was going to say. The goalkeeper, however, had turned to talk to the captain; during that training, those two never parted. Surely it was one of instructions of both the coach and Miles to keep him quiet. He saw him go in front of Stan to hear what he had to say to the team, while Leeroy went to the right of the coach with his "friends”. Stan was a man in his early 40s, probably the youngest teacher, and he also looked younger that the rest of the teachers. He was one of those people who believed in young people and who was always active in supporting them, despite some of them being hot-headed or good-for-nothing.  
At that momen his gaze was serious and it didn't betray emotions, so much so that everyone was wondering what he had to say.  
"I'm very sorry for the outcome of the final. I was convinced I took you to your best. I don't believe I underestimated you. You're still at your best, you did a good job during these years.” He paused , a note of irritation was felt in his voice, perhaps due to the defeat. "You don't have to be angry with how stuff went, this kind of things happen. Which is why that should not happen again.” The pace of his voice grew hard and firm.  
Leeroy felt cut to the quick and he was willing to bet that, a little later, the coach would say his name and put all the blame on him. He had no intention to make a public apology for what he had done during the game.  
“I'm just sorry for the seniors. I know you had hoped for it, and I was hoping as well. Actually, I was really convinced. Could have won that game.” A boy, however, interrupted him: “Don't worry, Stan. We knew that with some particular members it would've been tough, but the important thing is that we've become stronger. And we seniors will all keep playing in university,” said James, the now former striker of the team. His tone of voice was not full of regrets or anger, but simply nostalgic. He and four other players would shortly graduate and therefore would have been replaced by younger ones, like Daniele and Akel.  
“But some people should cool their hot temper,” he added.  
"What?”, was Leeroy's reaction, as he felt called into question.  
"I mean you have to calm down,” James said in a serious voice.  
“That's true,” Daniele and other players agreed, almost in unison. Leeroy glared at his friend: he would remember that.  
"You're quite right, in fact I'll make sure to calm that hot-head,” Stan said.  
"I remind you that I'm here!” Leeroy felt really offended. He had eventually pulled in from a senior and was given another lecture. But he could not blame them for being mad at him.  
"Keep quite, you and I will talk about it later,” added the coach.  
He was officially in trouble. He had believed that the speech would end there. However, the worst was yet to come. He felt like a real shit and wondered if Lance felt the same. He looked around for him again. The goalkeeper was keeping his eyes down, and his hands wearing gloves in the huge pockets of his football shorts. That behaviour was strange on his part, as he usually stood with his hands on his hips, like some sort of queen bee. He had to have zoned out, because he did not realize that Daniele was calling him, until he felt pulled by the shirt.  
“Are you still there?” the Italian asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Only then did he realize that the coach was gone and that the others were already heading for the locker room . "What do you want?” Leeroy said, surprised.  
"The coach wants you meet him in the teachers' room after you're done here,” Daniele replied in a bored tone.  
Leeroy nodded and followed him into the locker room. He had no desire to get changed, but then he remembered his mother's words about hating people who did not care about their personal hygiene. He huffed in annoyance; in order to avoid other complaints from the hysterical woman, he got undressed and went to take a shower.  
He slipped into the empty box between the two occupied by Akel and Daniele, who were busy talking loudly about their programmes for the summer break.  
“Then you're coming back to Italy as soon as school ends?”, the Turkish asked.  
"Yes, I'm fed up with England”, was Daniele's reply.  
"Have you two finished yelling?", the English one interrupted the two friends, as he was to the limit to his endurance. "If you don't want to go out your beloved and rainy England, that's not our problem,” Akel said annoyedly, emphasizing the ironic adjective. "I can go wherever I want, but I don't feel like it this summer,” he answered listlessly.  
He came out of the shower, tired of that conversation. He found Lance in front of him, waiting to get under the shower. The goalkeeper walked past him, without the slightest consideration, closing the plastic door. Leeroy was stunned, shortly after wondering if there could be someone more stupid than him. He tried to cool down, otherwise he would enter in the shower box and beat him up. But he decided to leave that idea and quickly got dressed to go talk with the coach. He wanted to go home as soon as he could to take it out on Call of Duty.  
As he got dressed, his eye fell on the mirror in his locker. With that slight beard and that muttled hair, he looked like a thirty-year-old man, yet he looked as if he was sixteen when shaved. He fixed his black hair so that the longer locks would not fall on his eyes.  
“Are you done prettying up?” Miles mocked him, laughing.  
“How funny,” was the other's sarcastic reply, after faking a laugh.  
“Hurry up, Stan doesn't like to wait.”  
“I know, I know.” It seemed like the fate of the world depended on that talk. Now ready, he took his shoulder bag and his gym bag and went to the school building.  
“Leeroy, don't forget to shave!” Miles yelled from inside the locker room. Right away, he heard a burst of laughters.  
“Mind your own fucking business!” he snapped through gritted teeth. He mentally sent them to hell and run to the coach; luckily, there was no one in the hallways, othewise he would have got struck among first-years.  
The teachers' room was on the ground floor, down the hall, immediately after the art room. He found the door open and he saw the coach sitting down and drinking a cup of coffee. The room smelled like a strange mix between coffee and old sheets. The room was a square with a central, rectangular table made of dark wood. In a corner near the window, on the right, there were the teachers' lockers , while immediately on his right, there was a sort of kitchenette for coffee and tea. Many pictures of landscapes and some posters – including one of the school football team – hung on the walls, as white as all the walls of the building. On his left there was a huge, wooden notice board full of photos of trips and postcards.  
“Come in and sit down, please.”  
Leeroy left the bulky bags behind the chair before following his coach's invitation.  
"What do want to talk about?” he asked after making himself comfortable.  
“You know it well.” The authoritative tone hinted at Leeroy that things were serious, exactly as he had imagined. The boy nodded and promptly leaned back in his chair, ready to hear whatever he would be told.  
“You know you have disappointed me, don't you?”  
Leeroy nodded again.  
“What's got into you? You were playing perfectly in the first half, then... what happened between you and Lance?” His voice had grown angry.  
“Nothing,” he replied dryly.  
"No indeed! You almost got into a fight and you even got a yellow card!", Stan screamed.  
Leeroy stubbornly refused to talk and that irritated the coach even more, but then he saw him calm down after taking a deep breath.  
“Up to this, I don't care. But let me warn you: other tricks like this, and I swear to God you're off the team, okay?”  
The defender kept his eyes down in shame and frustration. He did not understand how the coach could throw him off the team solely for his behavior. Damn, he was among the best player, if not the absolute best. He frowned.  
"I don't care care if you're good , I can always replace you . Don't believe you're unique, I can find ten players like you. Get a set or you won't get anywhere.” He had seen kids like him who thought they were unbeatable, but the passing of time had proved them to be just smoke and mirrors. At that point, Leeroy could not help but stare in disbelief. Stan could not be serious, he was not like that!  
"If you care, and I know you do, prove it to me and the team. Try to build a good relationship with Lance. You don't have to become friends, but at least learn to do teamwork.”  
The coach tiredly rubbed his eyes with his hands; he could not wait to get home and relax.  
“Got it,” Leeroy concluded dejectedly.  
“I hope so. Now get out.”  
The boy stood up and took his bags before saying goodbye.  
“See you tomorrow.”  
“Bye,” Stan said thoughtfully, before adding: “And shave off that beard!”  
"Of course,” the young man replied flatly, leaving the room. At that point, things seriously needed to change.


	2. 2

Despite having complained just a few days before, Stan decided that he had to find a simple and practical solution for Leeroy to get the message: Don't cause trouble to the team or you're out. There were less than fifteen minutes left to the end of the practise, so the coach stopped the game to make an offer to his players. That day the weather was really muggy and everyone, without exception, was reeling from the heat. The whole team was shirtless and sweaty either for the physical effort and the hot weather, but they didn't mind it as long as they were playing.  
"What?" Miles asked to the coach, as fresh as a daisy; he didn't seem to ever feel tired.   
"Come here,” Stan replied, then he turned to the goalkeeper: "Lance, clear the goal."   
The guy was disoriented: did Stan want to make another speech? He didn't want to waste time talking, they had to train.   
"Leeroy, come here too."  
The defender went beyond his mates to reach the coach. "Yes?" he asked, his voice still breathless.   
"Lance, give your gloves to him,” the coach said, then adding: "Leeroy, go to the goal."  
"What?" the person concerned said, astonished.  
"You got that right."  
The goalkeeper reluctantly took off his gloves and then threw them to his teammate, who promptly grabbed them.  
Stan spoke again: "In order to keep some of you from locking Leeroy in a closet and beating him up, we're going to do a special training now. It'll help you cool down. This way no one will get hurt ... well, maybe just Leeroy,” he concluded with a smile.  
"We'll use him as a target practice!? " Daniele's voice was strangely excited.  
"More or less. You can do whatever you want, as long as you use the ball and not your hands or feet, but you'll only get one chance. You won't be given others. This way we'll settle the matter. Alright, who's first?” he asked with an amused grin.  
“So we'll use him as target practice! " the Italian guy repeated happily.  
“What are we, barbarians?!” Leeroy cried, worried about the outcome of that practise. He would go home covered in bruises.  
"Shut up. And see if you can block them," Stan hushed him.  
Leeroy could not help but think that that man was a real bastard. Daniele suddenly came forward from the crowd of boys, with the football in his hands; he would have been the first to shoot it. He placed the ball on the field and he moved back to take a run-up.  
"Nothing personal,” the Italian said.  
Leeroy was already in a cold sweat: the bastard would be serious and would definitely aim at his face.  
"Try to avoid the nose, I don't want to take him to the hospital,” was the ironic remark of the coach.  
"I'll try, mister!"  
"What a fucking situation..." Leeroy muttered, utterly annoyed. As if that wasn't enough, the gloves were huge and sweaty. He would kill someone at the end of the day. He placed himself at the centre of the goal with open arms, as he had seen Lance do many times, waiting for the shot. He had no idea where Daniele would aim at, but he prayed he wouldn't at his face for real.   
Daniel made a fast run, then stopped suddenly one step away from the ball, kicking right in the direction of the goalkeeper, more precisely the lower abdomen. Leeroy blocked the ball with his hands, but he felt the shot loud and clear. He gasped for a moment, as deprived of all the air in his lungs. He was just a moron. He saw him give a high five to Miles, who then replaced the Italian.  
Lance was entertained by the scene, he was refraining from bursting out laughing and was looking forward to his turn.  
Unlike Daniele, Miles wasn't going to hurt Leeroy: he rather humiliated him by scoring a goal. Leeroy had to understand that each role was important and difficult at the same time.   
The captain took a running start. The temporary goalkeeper didn't have the faintest idea where he could aim at and therefore did not know whether to dodge a direct hit to him or save a goal. When Miles kicked the ball, Leeroy didn't even see it coming and it landed in the goal with Leeroy not even able to touch it with the tip of his fingers. He stayed on the ground for a few seconds. I am a defender, not a goalkeeper! Why should I be able to save a goal?!, he thought, bothered.  
"Nice goal,” Lance remarked, grinning.  
"I bet that if there was our goalkeeper in his place, he'd made it." Daniele added, giving a pat on Lance's back, laughing at how his friend was incompetent as a goalkeeper.  
"Yeah, it would've been a different story,” Lance agreed to his teammate.   
Did they really have to make him feel incompetent, as well as an idiot? That situation was exasperating and the hot weather was helping at all. "Just hurry up and end this stunt."   
"Sure, sure,” Stan said with a conscending look, "Next!”  
After Miles, it was Akel's turn. He also scored a goal, getting on Leeroy's nerves, while the others could not stop laughing heartily. At that point, it was clear that humiliating him would be more fun than hitting him. Effectively, it was what the rest of the team did, including James.  
At last it was the turn of the true goalkeeper. Leeroy was fully convinced that he would never score, it was impossible. He couldn't imagine, however, what Lance would do as the others, eager to show to the newcomer that, unlike him, he could do other than block goals. As he placed himself in front of the ball, Leeroy suddenly became nervous. He swallowed before wiping away the sweat from his forehead, Their gazes chained for an instant. Leeroy felt a shiver going down his spine despite the heat. This is not good at all, he thought. With a single glance that guy could make him lose his concentration and patience. "Damn it."  
Judging from the red-haired guy's eyes, he realized he couldn't expect anything good; he would hit him straight in the face for sure.  
“Mind getting a move on?”, Miles asked. That farce really had to come to an end, and who better than Lance could end with a bang?  
“Don't rush me, I don't want to miss it.”  
“Yeah, if you can score I've got a pink unicorn at home!”, Leeroy blurted, over the edge.   
Lance grinned fiercely. Just wait and watch, he thought. He took several steps back, then ran quickly toward the ball. He suddenly stopped, pretending to shoot. Leeroy plunged and went out the goal, sure he had guessed the other guy's intentions, but as soon as he saw him stop and kick the ball with the instep, he knew he was screwed. The ball flew over his head and fell into the net. Goal.  
Did he do a chip shot?!  
“You big bastard!”, he shouted at that point, standing up. “That's not valid! You had to hit me, not aim at the net!”  
“Stan said we could do whatever we wanted. Right?” Lance asked, turning to the coach.  
“Lance is right.”  
“Can we go now?”, the red-haired guy asked in a bored voice.  
“Of course. Go have a shower everyone, we'll see again three weeks before the beginning of the school year. I will let you know the exact day via message or Miles. Have a nice summer, guys.”

After the shower, the guys met up near the school, in a bar which was very popular among young people of their age. It had been an exhausting day and someone would even want to forget it. Bad thoughts and poor figures were soon replaced by laughter and games of table soccer.  
The café was large, on two floors: on the ground floor there were tables next to the windows, and at the center of the room the counter, while on the opposite side of the windows there was a table soccer and a pool table. Upstairs there was a room used as a restaurant, open only at weekend nights or for parties.  
They started hanging out at that place from the first day of school and, although they knew the owner well, they never managed to get a discount. That day, however, not everyone was there: James and the other new graduates, in fact, had gone celebrating with their girlfriends in some clubs out of town. At about 11 PM, however, the partying would go on: those of the team had the custom of organizing a party for the graduating players. But others didn't simply want to stay out in the heat, even Leeroy was among those, but hunger had got the better of the sultriness. He was sitting next to Drew and Daniele, while in front of him there was Lance with Akel and Miles at his sides. The only girl of the group, Abigail, dominated from the head of the table. She was a friend of Miles, who persisted in denying any type of romantic implication with her. The defender was impatiently waiting to devour his fish and chips but, in the meanwhile, he was unwillingly listening to what Abigail had to tell them. Most of the times she just scolded them, and that time was certainly no exception. Abigail was neither the team mascot nor a sort of a manager, but she was always present at the matches and helped them with training. Leeroy thought she was weird: she loved sports more than most of the guys he knew and hated to spend her days gossiping of her classmates and of nice guys with all her heart. The only times he had seen her shopping it was to buy sportwear or volleyballs.  
"Guys, next year I want you to kick up those bastards' asses!", the girl exclaimed.  
The others looked at her a bit worried. You could say that it was their number one fan, but most of the time she replaced the coach and demanded to prepare them as future soldiers to war. The team was always reluctant when she was put in the middle, sometimes even terrified, when she interfered.  
“Come on Abigail, chill out. We've got time, let at least the summer holidays end first... which, by the way, haven't even started yet. I want to live,! the Italian wearily remarked, collapsing on the table. Miles, on the contrary, was drumming his fingers on the wooden table, very upset; it was unbelievable that she always found fault with everything. It was one of those moments in which he cursed the day he had offered her to give them a hand. He noticed that the others were utterly exhausted from the girl's speeches as well: Daniele strangely gave no sign of life, he kept his head down like when he slept during lessons. Akel and Drew were gesticulating without being noticed by the girl; he realized they were planning to get away from that situation, while the other two seemed to be lost in their thoughts. He thought it was the time to try to calm her down.  
“It takes more effort on your part, you're just slackers!” she said, annoyed. She always worked hard for them and had never demanded any thanks or gratitude, she just wanted them to listen to her... and to follow her orders to the letter. But those guys were really impossible.  
“Abi, enough. I don't want to hear the usual stuff anymore. Daniele's right, it's summer, you can be a pain in the neck when the trainings session will start again in August. Just stop now.” The captain's voice, which was usually thin and low, was suddenly hard and deep. The brunette looked at him in disbelief. That hedgehog was telling her to shut up because she was heavy? The other boys looked alarmed at each other, expecting stormy sea. When Abigail Twain was nervous, it was better not to be around. They saw her take a deep breath to try to calm down, but they knew it was useless. Leeroy was convinced that eating at the counter would be a wonderful idea now.  
"How about a game of table football maybe?" Drew asked, sounding vague.   
“Alright!" the others replied, in unison, standing up at the same time and leaving the captain to come to terms with his worst nightmare. Miles and Abigail were so into scowling at each other that they didn't even notice what the other guys had said and done.  
“What's up with you?”, she asked flatly after a while.  
“You're harassing my players!” he said, furious with rage. When it came to her, patience was screwed every single time. It was good for the team to have her, but also bad because of her attitude, so most of the times Miles didn't know whetever to thank her or tell her to go to hell. Leeroy, who meanwhile had been served and had taken his plate to eat it voraciously, was pretending just like the other guys not to know those two who were currently fighting as husband and wife. “I bet she'll get the better of him as always”, Daniele loudly proclaimed while blocking Akel's shot.  
“This time he'll make her run away in tears”, Drew replied, worried.  
“Don't say bullshit, she can tear him apart when she wants, no way she bursts into tears,” Leeroy added, while finishing his snack. He felt his phone vibrate, someone probably had sent him a text. The name “Jo” appeared on the screen; his gaze got thinner, he had four missed calls and three texts. Something must have happened.  
In the verbal duels between the girl and the captain of the team, the one who always emerged as winner was Abigail. The others kept wondering why they weren't together yet, since they were two unbearable and despotic people who had found each other.  
“I think she'll give him another kick in the balls,” Leeroy said absent-mindedly, his eyes still on the phone screen. “What's up? She's already done it once,” he added, seeing that the others were frowning at him.  
“You're such a violent person,” Daniele sighed. Leeroy ignored that everyday remark. Behind their backs, the 'happy couple' gave no sign of stop fighting.  
“If you don't care of your players, then who does!?”  
“Are you still mad because that girl pinched you from the role of team captain?” he asked her, bewildered.  
Her gaze froze for a moment. “Do you think I care of something this stupid...?”, she hissed. Her eyes betrayed her, Miles had immediately realized it: that stupid girl was trying to look indifferent, but she actually cared. He had guessed right away that something was wrong with her that day, and he had immediately suspected the problem was that. That fight, in the end, wasn't that bad for her, at least she had vented some pent-up anger. Abigail, in fact, seemed to have understood what the guy was thinking and she suddenly calmed down, sitting back straight. She adjusted her dark brown hair on the shoulders and ended up playing with its fuchsia tips, looking out the window with sudden indifference. Unbelievable but true, Miles had achieved his goal, and it was one -of-a-kind event. He looked closely at her: it seemed to him that she had really got over the fact. He couldn't help but think that women knew how to adapt to problems much better than men; she had just needed to insult him for a few minutes to forget the matter.  
“Wanna go out for a walk?”, Miles dared to ask.  
“No, I want to stay with the others too,” she got rid of him.  
The captain resigned himself with the hint of a smile: in the end, even though he got away with it, it didn't mean she would accept suggestions from him.  
Across the room. the boys had seen and heard everything. "Shit!" Akel exclaimed in amazement, "this time he calmed her down!"  
“She won't give it to him in any case,” Leeroy said, standing up from his chair and getting other death stares from his teammates.  
“Miles would beat you up if he hears you say that about her”, Drew said.  
“He hasn't even realized she returns his feelings, he's an idiot.”  
“Do we have to keep talking about them or can we go to the beach?”, the Italian asked, tired of waiting.  
“Let's finish the game first, Lance and I are winning”, the Turkish said.  
“Shut up, you asshole, you have just kept making snake shots all the time! Who taught you how to play?” Drew sentenced, struggling with the table football cues.  
The game ended with Daniele and Drew's 9-8 victory. Then Lance went to the toilet while the others went to call the little 'happy couple'.  
“Shall we go?” Drew asked, placing his hands on the girl's shoulders in a friendly way. Miles bored holes into him with his gaze.   
“Yes. So... have you read in the newspaper of the robberies that are taking place uptown? Seems that the robber knew when and how to enter without setting off the alarms,", Abigail said, worried.   
"Luckily we don't live uptown...right, Roy?”, the Italian scoffed. Leeroy actually lived right in one of those houses, in Roedean, but fortunately for his mother, no thief had ever tried to get into the house.  
“We've got a burglar alarm,” he replied dryly.  
“What if they manage to turn it off?” Drew asked.  
“Without the code, they can't remove it, it's one of the newest alarms.”  
Lance arrived at that moment. " Shall we? "

Outside the room, the heat hit them like a overflowing river, as if they were in the desert. The only two that didn't seem to mind it so much were the Italian and the Turk, who were used to exaggerated temperatures. It would not be a bad summer for them, they would have fun in their respective countries, if it had not been for their birthdays in those weeks. During the last weeks of school, however, Akel got the brilliant idea to celebrate their birthday in the restaurant of Daniele's parents as soon as they got back from their holidays. Now they just had to tell the others.  
"Guys, before we forget... Akel and I are gonna have a birthday party together when the holidays are over, you are all invited of course. Abi, please, bring some girls from the team", Daniele said, making starry eyes at the volleyball player.  
"Okay, I'll ask two of my friends,” she smiled at them, "I thought you would have your birthdays in your country.”  
"Yes, but we won't have as much fun as with you guys,” Akel replied with a big smile.  
"Okay, so we'll all be there. I'm going home. I don't want to come to the beach.”  
"You asocial bastard, I know why you want to go home!", Daniele shouted, "Your fucking Jacuzzi! You can bet your bottom dollar that we'll have many parties at your place, you tightwad!" he added teasingly.  
"If I do such a thing, my mother will kill me. See you after the holidays.” So he walked to the car, near the school.  
Daniele was not mistaken: he was really going home for the whirlpool bath. He had never liked the sea, he hated the brackish and cold water that surrounded the English coasts with all his heart.  
On the way, the phone vibrated another time. It was Jo again. This time he answered the call, since no one could hear him. He didn't want to talk about family problems in front of other people.  
"What happened?" he asked in an apprehensive voice.  
"That bitch of my mother won't let me to Brighton for the summer holidays, she's forcing me to stay in college in London!". From her tone of voice, he realized that the girl was really angry.  
"Have you tried to hear from my mother?"  
“Yes, but even she can't do anything about it. Cousin, can you try to convince my mother to let me come over? Can't stand to be here alone... I swear I'm about to run away from this damn school!”  
“Don't say shit,” he blurted to the phone. His family was really unbearable, always had to create problems where none existed. Moreover, his aunt wouldn't let his cousin lead a normal life. Intolerable. “Let's do it like this, as soon as I get home I'll get my mother to call you, so you'll explain everything to her. But don't say any further bullshit like running away from there. Got it?”  
All he heard on the other end of the phone line was a weak “yes” and sobs.  
“Don't cry. I'd gladly exchange your mother for mine,” he sighed.  
“No sense, your mother's fantastic! Mine's just a bitch!”  
“Enough now. Gotta go now, I have to drive home. Just try to calm down now, will talk to you later, okay? Bye Jo.  
After hanging up he got in the car, thinking that his aunt was really being a senseless bitch for treating her daughter like that. It was also true that Jo was too oversensitive and often overreacted, but it was impossible that he was put in the midst of his family's problems every single time.

He took advantage of the fact his mother wasn't back home yet to take some Red Bull cans from the fridge before wearing his swimsuit and jumping into the Jacuzzi with headphones on. He was listening to Coldplay's Viva la Vida to relax.  
The sky was still blue, but the sun would shortly begin to set. He had a perfect view of the sunset from that position, but he was not paying much attention to it, preferring to focus on the lyrics and to hum softly.  
By now it was clear that his cousin would not spend the summer holidays with him. The phone vibrated on the edge of the bath and stopped the song for a moment; it was a text from his mother.  
I spoke with Adrian, but she doesn't want to let Jo come here. She'll be studying in a summer college. Will be home by 8PM. XO

Apparently his cousin hadn't been the best in her class that year. Leeroy was sure she had done it out of spite towards her mother, he knew that Jo actually loved going to school and studying, but Adrian had put her off the idea of doing that. He decided to write a text to comfort her. 

I'm sorry, at this rate I don't know if your mother will let you come here at Christmas.

He sent the message, and then put the phone on the edge again, back to listening to music. That would have been a horrible summer for both. He sighed between sips of Red Bull and yawns.

 

Days passed by strangely fast, without him noticing. The calm that he liked so much, however, vanished one morning, when Julio and Bartosz decided to call on him.  
It was about ten in the morning and Leeroy had been asleep for only four hours, after a night spent playing with the X-Box. He heard someone knock repeatedly to the door of his bedroom; since he was half asleep, he thought he was late for school. He felt stupid while turning over in the sheets, thankfully he was still on holiday. But his mother wouldn't stop knocking, fortunately this time he had not forgotten to lock the door up.  
Of course this didn't block her aim of waking him up.  
A few moments later, in fact, Leeroy heard the phone ring, and mentally cursed himself for having such a noisy ringtone. He knew that having Last Resort as ringtone was a suicide, especially if someone were to call him in the morning as in that case. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he growled from under the covers looking for his phone, hidden under the pillows. The room was completely dark, with the air conditioning at full blast. It seemed to be September, but he liked it that way. He struggled to lift his eyelids to read the name on the display. Amanda. His mother was really a ball and chain. He hung up and threw the phone on the bedside table. The ringtone set off again. That device was a diabolical object, he was seriously tempted to throw it out the window.  
This time, however, he decided to turn it off, sending his mother to hell.  
“Smurfie! Open the door, you've got guests!”  
He didn't reply, he was too tired to stand a dialogue with that woman.  
“Smurfie! Your friends are downstairs, they want you to go to the park to play with them!”  
How old did she believe he was, ten? He wondered if his mother still had to realise he was eighteen already. But he couldn't take anything for granted with her. He rolled over for the umpteenth time on the bed, smothering his head in the pillow, exasperated.  
“Leeroy, open the door or I swear I'll disconnect internet.”   
She knew she had just said the right words, or better, the magical words to convince her son.  
In fact, she heard a thud on the floor and then fumbling with the key, finally standing in front of him, who was obviously in a bad mood.   
"What do you want?!"  
"Are you deaf? There are Julio and the Pole with the unpronounceable name who want to go out with you."   
"His name's Bartosz, it's not so difficult to pronounce."   
“Come on, come downstairs.” Then she seemed to have second thoughts, so she stopped him. “Tidy yourself up first, you look like a walking dead.”  
That resolute voice didn't do anything but further irritate the boy. “Tell them I'll be right there.”  
“In the meanwhile I'll prepare breakfast for them, you want anything?”  
“Double espresso.”  
“All that caffeine will harm you!” she yelled, annoyed.

A few minutes later, Leeroy came into the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee overcame him and gave him a sweet good morning, for sure better than his mother's. Julio and Bartosz were drinking American coffee, which he hated wholeheartedly: it just tasted like hot water. Espresso, on the contrary, had a strong flavour that woke him up after a single sip.   
He wondered what those two had come there for so early. They had already been to his house many times during the year for challenges at the X-Box, but none of his friends had dared so much. They all knew that he had a bad attitude, but early in the morning he was really the worst of the worst.  
“Wanna come with us to the park for a few shots?” Julio immediately asked him, smiling cheerfully. Leeroy sat on one of the stool next to the kitchen peninsula, rabbing the cup of black coffee given to him by his mother.   
"Couldn't tell me last night?”, he asked, sipping his coffee and stifling a yawn.  
“Of course, at least we wouldn't have found you at home. Daniele told me to come and get you the same day we're going out without giving you any notice”, the Pole commented.   
Leeroy rubbed his temples with his fingers. It was not possible that the Italian poked his nose into everything, even when he was not around. Once back he would kick him. He could always put him in awkward situations.   
"Now that we're here you can't do anything but come with us." Julio grinned ominously.   
"Thank you guys for coming to get him, he didn't go out even one day during this month. I think he spent his time on Youporn." Amanda said in a worried voice, but with a hint of irony to make fun of her son. The other two could not help but burst out laughing like crazy, being scowled at by the person concerned for that.  
"I think it's time to go," Leeroy said grimly in order to hush his mother and two friends. "I'm taking the bag and the cleats and we can get out."

“In your house air conditioning isn't missing for sure. Bart and I didn't want to leave!” the young Spaniard laughed.  
"I hate the heat with all my heart”, Bartosz added.  
“Go buy it.”  
“Actually, we were wondering if you wanted to have a party at your house one of these days..." Bart said flatly.  
"No way, we promised to Daniele we'd to wait for him, because he wants to have the honor of baptizing Rogers' house with a big party.”  
“That idiot can keep dreaming...”

They arrived at the pitch in Westdene, a little more than half an hour walk from Leeroy's house. Miles, Drew and, to the defenser's delight, Lance, were already there. Leeroy felt trapped. Was he screwed by those two? Or was it Daniele's whole idea? He took a deep breath before greeting the others and ignoring the presence of that nuisance.  
He had spent many years of his childhood playing on that pitch with other kids; the place hadn't changed at all, maybe it was just a little aged. It seemed that no one payed much attention to it: the grass, in fact, was almost completely missing under the two goals and at the mid field.   
The fence was punctured in several points and the benches on opposite sides of the field ware daubed with graffiti. Fortunately, this was not a particularly hot day, so they would not have suffered for running under the sun. His attention was taken up by Miles, who was talking about making a three-against-three match.  
“I, Lance and Drew against the three of you, okay?”, the captain said in an authorative voice.  
“Look, you don't rule here, why don't you give Lance to us and take Julio?” the Pole said.  
“Julio's not a goalkeeper, I'm keeping Lance. If you want, you can have Drew, I think he can make out just fine,” Miles replied firmly, but he actually was doubtful.  
“Okay, Julio for Drew.”  
After negotiating, the boys placed themselves on the field, waiting for Leeroy to change his shoes. He was already thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to get back at that bastard. The goal he had scored during the last training session was still stuck in his throat. He was full of energy, so he ran to the pitch and placed himself next to Bartosz.

Miles had duped them. Not only was Drew terrible at blocking goals, but he had even let in three.  
Leeroy was sweating and seething with anger for not being able to score a goal yet.  
“Bart, pass it!”, the defenser yelled to the mate.  
The Pole dodged Julio, only to find himself in front of Miles, who wouldn't let him go any further. He tried to make a fake, but that guy would not budge an inch.  
Leeroy quickly went to his companion to get the ball. As soon as he got it between his feet, he started running toward the goal after dodging Julio. The Spanish boy was good, but he was better. He dragged him until he was close enough to shot. Then, taking Julio unawares, he came back, passing the ball to Bartosz again and getting it another time and finally shooting.   
The ball took the crossbar, leaving Leeroy stunned. He felt like an idiot.  
"You're such a dick-head, Roy!" Bart yelled.   
“Stop bugging, it was only warming-up.”  
“Don't say bullshit," Miles said to him. "You made a mistake, don't try to play cool,” he hardly held back a laugh.   
“Thus spoke the great midfielder!” Leeroy teased him, grinning in annoyance.  
“Shut up and go back to play.”

The game ended with Miles' team winning. Drew had been a terrible goalkeeper, to say the least; Bart had already mentally noted to get back to the captain for that rip-off. Their school team didn't even have a reserve goalkeeper and the Pole thought it was shocking. It was past noon and the boys decided to go back to their homes for lunch, but Leeroy didn't want to see his mother again, now that she was on holiday he had had enough of her.  
“I want a return match soon, you can't leave me in front of the goal just because you want so,” Drew said, totally dejected. He had felt completely useless throughout the game.  
“Don't be a pain in the ass. We can't tear each other apart for something like this,” Miles sentenced.  
“It's easy for you to say that, since you put together a stronger team, with even a good goalkeeper,” Leeroy replied with a grimace.  
"If you weren't fine with the goalkeeper, you could have done it, but I don't think the result would've been different." Lance said dully.  
“You'd better shut up.” Even that idiot had to start bothering him? He kept repeating to himself not to jump down his throat and strangle him. The threats of the captain and the coach came back to him as a cold shower. He hadn't to come to blows with Lance, or else he would have become a bench warmer for the rest of the year.  
“You're so touchy,” he heard the goalkeeper teasing him.  
At that point, Miles interrupted the start of the impending fight between those two, deliberately changing the subject of the conversation. "What can we give to Daniele and Akel for their birthday?"   
“His own fucking business to Daniele, and a blow-up doll to Akel.”  
“The doll is okay, but we need something else,” Miles said thoughtfully, deliberately ignoring half of Leeroy's words.  
“Akel's sports bag is broken, what about getting a new one?” Julio suggested.  
“Great. What about Daniele?”  
“Nothing about football, otherwise his mother will kill us... She has already had enough with her husband and son to have more stuff like that around,” Leeroy replied thoughtfully.  
“What kind of music does he like?” Lance asked.  
“Italian music. If you all agree I can purchase some Cds online, maybe a t-shirt too,” was Leeroy's idea.  
“Perfect. Now I've got to go guys, I have guests over tonight, see you!” Miles waved, before heading to his car, parked next to the pitch.  
At that point Julio, Drew and Bartosz went away as well, leaving the defender alone with his worst nightmare, who was looking at him in a strange way. What does he want from me now?   
Leeroy's eyes narrowed, he turned his back to the other guy without even saying goodbye and looking for a nearby bar. He wasn't going to waste his time with him.   
Against all his expectations, he found Lance at his side.  
“Let's go eat something, you'll get this.” The goalkeeper came straight to the point, without even letting the other reply.  
What the hell had he put his mind to? His wallet was not a bank. The worst thing was that he was wondering why he was actually pandering to him. Perhaps they really had to draw out a temporary peace treaty or crap like that. The important thing was not to argue with that giant.  
“As you want.”

 

They had been strangely silent along the way; they found a bar in a nearby street, so they sat outside waiting for someone to take their order. Lance was texting and not paying so much attention to him, or rather, he wasn't considering Leeroy at all. The defender, however, had his head on his arms on the table, he could not keep his eyes open and that whole situation was surreal. He needed caffeine as never before, otherwise he would never be able to hold a conversation with the other.  
"So guys, what can I bring to you?" A very pretty girl in her early 20s wearing her hair in two little braids and a apron on went to them with a smile. Leeroy noticed she had already fixed her eyes on Lance; he wondered what women found in that ginger-headed giant. To his surprise, Lance told his order to the waitress in a very cold voice.  
"A Red Bull with ice and a sandwich for me," the defender said.  
"Be right back!" The girl smiled and disappeared into the bar.   
Lance seemed to finally bring his attention to the other guy. "How can you drink that much Red Bull? Daniele told me that you drink tons.”  
"Daniele would better think of his damn business, he goes around tell mine to everyone,” he snapped, rubbing his eyes tiredly.  
He was sure he had deep eye sockets again for his sleepless night spent playing videogames.  
A few moments later, the girl returned with their drinks.   
"Thank you," said the two in unison, listlessly.  
"Now I'll bring you the sandwiches."   
Leeroy opened the can and then pour the contents into a glass with ice, Lance did the same with his light Coke. The defender had no idea what to say, the only things that came to his mind were insults. To kill time and embarrassment, he downed half of his drink. He would surely take another one shortly after. He took a little courage and asked to the other guy, who just kept texting: "Why should I pay your lunch?"  
"Because I had no money with me,” he simply replied.   
"Couldn't you ask Miles to borrow you some?" the defender said, annoyed.   
"I forgot." Lance continued to send a text after another without paying too much attention to the other; that attitude was going to blow up Leeroy's nerves. The explosion of the bomb, however, was postponed by the waitress arriving at their table with their food.   
“Here you go, guys,” she smiled at them.   
Leeroy grudgingly took a ten-pound note from his wallet to pay the girl.   
"Remember, you owe me a lunch." Maybe the fact that Lance was in debt with him was a good thing. The other nodded quietly before putting the phone back in his pocket and starting eating.   
Leeroy thought that, in the end, he could manage, even though with a huge effort, to be civil with the goalkeeper.  
While the defender snapped at the sandwich, he saw Lance looking at him with a serious expression on, so he got dumbfounded. "What?" he asked with his mouth full.   
"I want to talk about the game."

Leeroy raised an eyebrow. Had the goalkeeper really pretended to want to have lunch just to discuss? Was he twisting him?  
In short, he could have told him after coming back to school in August. What surprised him was that Lance himself brought up the subject. Besides fights and insults, they had never held a normal conversation until then.  
"Why do you look so surprised?"  
Leeroy swallowed and then asked, flatly: " Why do you want to talk 'bout it? "  
The other sighed. "Because I am as mad as you for that," he said bluntly.  
The defender narrowed his eyes . If they talked, maybe things could go a little better between them. He thought up for a few second and then asked: "What do you have in mind? "  
"Cut all your crap out. Damn, you are as old as me and you act like a kid on the field."  
How did he know they were the same age? No one at school, except for Daniele and Akel, knew that he repeated one year. He gave him a quizzical look. He wasn't surprised at all by those words, they were the same as everyone else's, but hearing them from Lance was different. If also Lance thought so, then he really was a painful case. But Leeroy would never give him the satisfaction of being right.  
“None of your business,” he said before standing up to leave.  
“Put you ass back on that fucking chair. We're not done yet”, the red-haired guy growled.  
"Yeah, you and I are done. Won't stay here to hear your crap out!”   
"Sit down, please. We need to settle the matter once and for all,” Lance hissed between his teeth. He could not understand how Leeroy could be so childish: he was not able to speak civilly with people if not to insulte them. He was really going to discuss how to improve their relationships, so that they could live peacefully together on the field. He was trying to be nice to him but he could not, Leeroy was a spoiled kid with a snotty nose.  
"Don't want to waste my breath, sit down.”  
In the end, the defender unwillingly sat down again. He had to stand the other's presence without ending up smashing his face. The tone Lance used with him had bothered him.  
"Okay. But let's tone down, otherwise we'll really break each other's face," Leeroy tried to defuse the situation. After all, he really wanted to hear what the hell Lance had to say.  
“Listen, we don't have to become friends, I don't give a fuck about you and you don't give a fuck about me, right?” He looked at him, looking for his approval.  
The defender nodded. The thing was clearly evident. "So what?" he asked curiously.   
"You and I do won't consider each other except during practise or matches, and by that I mean that when we are on the field I don't want to end up having to beat you up because you waste your time getting insulted by the first idiot around,” he replied with a ironic smile on his face.  
“Are you talking about Sanders during the game?"   
"And of all the other players, but especially him. Haven't you realise that he did it on purpose all the time? And of course you fell for it like an idiot,” he sighed wearily.   
How could that jerk tell him how to behave on the field? If someone like Oliver Sanders insulted him, he couldn't tell him not to follow suit.  
“Should I let him offend me and not react!?”  
“React with the game, not with picking a fight!”  
“It's easy for you to say, you just have to stand in front of the goal!” he blurted out, acidly.  
Lance frowned at him. “What's up with you? Are you stupid or what?!” It was impossible that that boy was so selfish and self-centered. Did he have any idea of what team play meant?  
“Stop with this bullshit. If you're done, I'm leaving.” He stood up and really headed toward home this time.  
The goalkeeper didn't know what to think anymore. Leeroy had just an impossible attitude. He waited a few minutes before standing up as well and following him.  
Leeroy put his headphones and let Animal I have become play, walking double-time to cool off. He couldn't stop thinking about the conversation that had just occurred. He had wasted money and time on that guy. It was just a waste of breath, things could not change just because Lance wanted them to. If the two of them didn't stand each other, they just couldn't magically get on well. Suddenly he felt the presence of someone behind him; thinking that that someone wanted to pass, he turned to step back. In front of him, however, he didn't find an old woman who could hardly walk, but Lance, who looked at him annoyed.  
“And now the hell what?! So much for that, I don't give a fuck!” he yelled at him.  
The goalkeeper had always been very patient, but since he had met Leeroy, he had lost his coolness. He impulsively grabbed the defender by his shirt and knocked him against the fench of a house. There was no one around, so passers-by would not call the police to separate the two guys.  
Leeroy stayed in a state for a few second because of the blow to the head.  
“Listen to me carefully, you piece of shit. I don't give a fuck about you. If it were up to me, I'd have already smashed your face so hard that your own mother wouldn't recognize you. But since we are on the same team, do me a favour and stop acting like a jerk. Would take me no time to break your legs!” Lance growled, spitting mad.  
Leeroy was disoriented. That idiot was heavy and was pushing him against the wall, forgotting how much he was hurting him. Lance had to be bipolar. His mood could not really change so out of hand. He tried to hit him with a knee to the groin, but the goalkeeper avoided it by a whisker. Roy then took the opportunity to break free from his grip.  
“What the fuck you doing?” Lance gritted his teeth, annoyed for letting the defenser slip away.  
"...Smashing your face! " he shouted, throwing a punch in his nose.  
Lance instinctively put one hand on it and found out he was losing blood.  
That was the straw that broke the camel's back . He again grabbed Leeroy by the shirt tugging and hitting him in the face in turn.  
The defender was struck on the right cheek and then move back a few steps. The next day he would have a bad bruise. He ran atilt trying to hit the other in the stomach, but Lance grabbed his arm in time and blocked it behind his back.   
“If you don't stop, I'll break your arm” Lance hissed to his ear.  
“Fuck you!”  
Lance squeezed his arm to hurt him more. The other cursed by the action.  
“For Christ's sake, what are you two doing?!” Someone shouted from behind them.  
The goalkeeper instinctively let the grip go. It was an elderly woman who was looking at them upset and angry.  
“No wrangling over in the middle of the street, you criminals! I am going to call the police!”  
The two looked at each other, both stunned, and, not knowing what to do, they began to run from the opposite side to get away from the old lady. "She's crazy!” said Leeroy. “Only because we were beating up that doesn't mean we are thugs, what a shitty prejustice!" he added, panting.  
“She must have thought I was robbing you” Lance remarked, flatly.  
When they arrived at a park nearby, they decided to stop to drink from a drinking fountain. Leeroy couldn't help but burst out laughing. That situation was surreal.  
“Why are you laughing?” Lance asked, surprised at the teammate's sudden change of mood.   
"Tell me that for a moment you weren't afraid that it was the police!" and meanwhile, he could not hold back from laughing.  
The goalkeeper looked at him as you might look at an alien just arrived on Earth: he had never seen Leeroy laugh, and he seemed to be one of those people that couldn't stop laughing once they have begun. Surely he was ticklish too.  
“Please, clean up your face” said Roy, still chuckling. “Looks like a bottle of ketchup blew up in your face!”  
Lance looked at him irritated. “Want me to kick you?”  
“Don't bug, your face's killing me!”  
“I can see.”  
Lance shoved his face under the fountain, getting his hair wet. Then he wiped his face, but he had nonetheless rosy rings on his nose and chin.  
When he came back, he saw the other rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a pack of paper tissues and threw it to him. "Get cleaned up," he said jokingly.  
" Thanks, mommy" the other teased, sarcastically.  
"As you please. Meanwhile I 'm going to take something frozen to put on the cheek. If I go back home with a bruise, my mother will kill me off," he said flatly, and then headed to the stand in the center of the park.  
It was a small wooden house, with a large window from which you could order, in front of it there were a couple of cheap, green plastic tables and chairs.  
“Could you give me a Red Bull, iced if possible, please?” he asked, politely. Luckily for him, they had one, so he payed and was ready to go back. He stopped to think he'd better take something for the goalkeeper too, surely his parents would have got mad with him if they saw Lance with a bruise as well.  
“May I have a Coke too? A Light one.”  
Having finally got everything he needed, he went back to the goalkeeper and found him sitting on a bench with his back against the backrest and head thrown back.  
"Idiot, put this on your nose,” called the defender.  
The other sat up suddenly, as if woken up.   
"Hey, were you sleeping?”  
“You're not the only one who spends some sleepless nights, even if I spend them differently, not playing videogames,” Lance said, acidly.  
He felt offended by that remark, but tried not to show it. “I don't care what you do at night. Here, I got you this,” he said, handing out the Coke with a forcedly blank face.  
“How caring you are now,” he teased him.  
“How funny. I just don't want to piss your parents off because their son comes back home full of bruises.”  
Leeroy sat on the bench, on the opposite side than the other, holding up his head with his hands and his eyes focused on the ground, while the can was between his right hand and the cheek. He wanted to drink it so badly.  
Lance, unlike the other, didn't care of possible bruises, but Leeroy was right about one thing: if he came back home like that, his mother would have yelled at him, not to mention his sister. He sighed, lazily leaning back and leaving the head tilted back with the iced can resting on his nose.  
What a shitty summer! He had no further desire to talk with the defender, but he didn't even want to go home. He would go around and then call Miles, just to annoy him.  
His eyes involuntarily wandered on the other, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts as always. He wondered if his brain could really put together constructed thoughts.  
“What now?”, the goalkeeper heard.  
“What?” he asked in reply.  
Leeroy felt teased, so he pulled his head up to look for eye contact with Lance. "I want to know if you have any other crap to tell me."  
Lance was surprised. So Leeroy was not a total idiot. “I said everything I had to say," he said in a neutral voice.  
"Okay. Will try to cool down." He pointed his gaze straight ahead and sighed. After all, if both had the same goal, they could only try not to kill each other. Finally he opened the can to drink a bit of that drink that he liked so much.  
Lance raised an eyebrow in surprise. Maybe things would get better... or drastically worse. Until August they would not see each other again, so he had to wait to say if that chat would work. "Thank you for the coke. See you,” the goalkeeper greeted him, standing up.  
"With this you owe me two favours, remember that."  
"Yeah, yeah..."  
Leeroy lingered on the bench for a while, thinking about the day's events. After finishing the can of Red Bull, he stood up and headed toward home, thinking he needed to text Daniele, telling him to forget the idea of having a party at his place.


	3. 3

He looked at himself in the pizzeria window; those big, black eye glasses clashed with his face, they make him look too young. He thought they were uncomfortable, as well as ugly, but they were, above all, a sort of mental block to him. They were something indispensable in his everyday life and matches, he hates them for that reason. Actually ha hates his eyes, since he was shortsighted, so his own sight was imperfect. Leeroy knew he was a player with a perfect technique, he could feel the ball move between his feet even when standing still, but those scant, few dioptres less made him feel helpless. During matches and practises he wore eye lenses, but his mood didn't change at all; those transparent membranes only gave him a normal appearence. Strangely enough, nobody had even made him notice that little particular. On the contrary Drew, who had his same problem, was labeled as “blind” or “bat” almost daily. Roy was convinced that it was because of their gap in skill, since the black-haired defender was nevertheless a true ace. He still had his head in the clouds when Daniele opened the door to invite him in. “Has Akel yet to arrive?”, asked Leeroy. The Italian was so tanned that it seemed as if he had just got out of a solarium; his dark complexion had immediately stood out to the British boy. He felt a bit envious. Roy would have liked to go somewhere during the summer, but since Jo hadn't got gook marks, she couldn't reach him in Brighton. That witch of his aunt had basically ruined his holidays. “He's eating in the staff room. You're gonna eat here too, aren't you?” the Italian asked. Roy grinned in an amused way, already knowing how the night would end. “Of course.”  
The pizzeria had a large guest hall with a bar counter on the opposite side from the entrance. He followed Daniele through the hall to the private room where the employees and the owners went relaxing and eating during breaks.  
Bella Napoli, Balboa Family's pizzeria, had been open since 1969, year in which Daniele's grandfather emigrated in the United Kingdom to open a restaraunt of his own and to see the world. Business had gone well since the opening, in fact it was the most loved Italian restaurant in town.  
Leeroy and Daniele found Akel divouring slices of pizza as if he hadn't eaten anything in months, and it was partially true. As he saw them he tried to greet them but he almost choked, so he was forced to swallow with a sip of beer. Even though the Turk and the Italian were still underage Paolo, Daniele's father, didn't care about laws and always offered them beer.  
“Hey, watch out!”, Leeroy joked  
“You can't understand... just spend two months with my relatives and then we'll talk. I hate Turkish food.”  
“So he thought he'd better come here to pig out. You look like a thirteen-year-old who was just dumped,” the Italian teased.  
In response, Akel lifted his middle finger and smiled sarcastically.  
“Let's take a seat, my sister is bringing pizza and beer,” Daniele announced.  
Leeroy looked at him skeptically; since when his sister granted him favours? Rebecca was just a year older than her brother and she attended their same school. He had known her since he had known Daniele and he could affirm they really didn't stand each other.  
“Rebecca will serve us?”  
“She owes me a favour... long story.”  
They kept chatting about this and that, waiting for their “waitress”. Daniele told them how he had met a girl in Italy and shortly after found out she was involved with someone else. The Italian had seriously risked being beaten up and thrown up with fishing nets into the sea.  
“Pizza and beer for you, ladies.”  
Rebecca listlessly entered the room, hoping none of the three would make stupid jokes, otherwise she would throw the tray in their faces.  
As Akel saw her, he stopped eating and wiped his mouth in order not to look like a cave-dweller, while Daniele gave her an amused look. Those two were like day and night, although they looked physically alike. But whereas Daniele always had an absent-minded and mischievious expression on his face, the girl's was usually serious and annoyed, and rarely changed. People seldom saw her laugh.  
“Reby, don't complain. A deal is a deal, you'll be our waitress all night.”  
The girl looked daggers at her brother, then hissed an insult in Italian that the other two didn't get. After that, she badly laid the tray on the table and quickly disappeared beyond the door while keeping insulting her brother. Being forced to live together with that loafer was really hard for her.  
“She gets crabbier and crabbier everyday, doesn't she?” Akel commented.  
“How did you think she would become after holidays? Her dream is to live in Italy, but she's forced to stay here because there's no future for he over there. She's always pissed off everytime we come back from there.”  
Daniele didn't understand his sister's attachment to their homeland. Italy was a beautiful country, but living there was out of question.  
He knew that, in reality, Rebecca would have just liked to spend more time with their maternal grandparents, who were very old and couldn't come visiting them in England anymore. He could understand her feelings, he was sad for their distance as well, but couldn't do anything about that.  
“Changing subject...” The English guy's voice interrupted the friend's stream of thoughts. “... mind telling me why the hell you told those two to come bugging me so early last month?!” he asked, annoyed.  
Daniele frowned at him. “Are you stupid or what? You're eighteen and you spend the entire day playing videogames or training... should have send a girl to wake you up, at least you'd have thanked me." Leeroy's attitude was a true enigma to Daniele: a ten-year-old would be more socially active than him.  
“Don't bug with this crap,” Leeroy blurted out, “My cousin had to come here but my aunt didn't let her, so I did nothing.”  
He couldn't believe he had to justify himself to that idiot. For an istant he was puzzled for the glances his friends were giving to him. He got quite chafed. “What the fuck are you thinking?! I grew up with her, she's like a sister to me!” he snapped indignantly. The other two bursted out laughing in response.  
“We said nothing, you did!”  
“Yeah, find a girlfriend and leave me in peace.”  
“Can you introduce her to us?” they teased.  
“Absolutely no!” Although they were friends, he would never leave his cousin in the hands of those two reckless wretches. Even though he was no less so.

The evening passed quietly; every now and then Rebecca called in to supply them with food and beer, every time more annoyedly then the time before. Daniele was sure she would take revenge on him. In the end, Akel and Leeroy found out why she had to pay her brother back: in Italy a boy wouldn't stop hitting on her; she was so exhausted that she had to resort to Daniele to knock that guy out the way.  
“She really had to be desperate,” Leeroy remarked.  
They had arrived at about the fourth or fifth beer when the atmosphere had begun to lighten up.  
“Poor boy, I almost felt sorry for him. A ball-less Milanese* rich kid. When I told him that I would have called my friends to beat him up if he tried to annoy my sister again, he turned white, and ran away with his tail between his legs!” Daniele was telling proudly, laughing at the memory.  
Among jokes and laughs, Leeroy locked his bad temperament away to be a friendly person for once; that rarely occurred, and only in front of a few people. Not because he was introvert, but only because he really couldn't behave well when in front of someone he couldn't stand; he couldn't help it. The following day practise would start again, and he already knew that he would be in a bad mood because of Lance, in spite of the promise he had made him. At most he could ignore him; he had no intention of becoming friends with him, he just had to put up with him during games and practises but he already thought it would be hard. At the thought of seeing him the following day he felt his stomach turn; that time at the park was enough for other six lives.  
He gulped down half of his beer because of those bad thoughts, then showed off a loud belch, which raised the other two's laughs and led off to a challenge. When Rebecca heard them, she couldn't help calling them pigs, she took her stuff from the locker next to the door and exited the room, accompanied by the sound of another belch, coming from her brother that time. One day she would make those three idiots pay for that. Once alone in the room, the three friends bursted out laughing.  
“You're such an asshole to your sister,” said Akel, who didn't know whether to feel sorry for Rebecca or keep sniggering.  
“I wasn't the only one,” the Italian justified himself, ending the sentence with another belch and making them laugh again.

They went to bed around 1 AM; the morning after they would have the first training of the new school year. They all slept on the big sofa bed, but none of them managed to sleep a wink because the mattress was utterly uncomfortable. Akel wished he wouldn't have to sleep again next to those two, it was a true agony for his back. Daniele mentally promised himself that that would have been the last time he invited them to sleep in the restaurant, while turning over in bed and shoving an elbow in Leeroy's rips again and again.  
They were woken up very early because of the noises coming from the kitchen beside the staff room. Paolo was already working to prepare fresh pasta and bread for the restaurant.  
“I hate your father,” Akel mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head but baring his feet. He had spent the entire night trying to stay under that short blanket but he had not succeded. He snorted, depressed; he wanted to go home, he would have never stand a work-out after a night like that.  
“You should've gone home then,” Daniele turned over for the umpteenth time and didn't care about hitting Roy again; the British boy, in fact, kept on sleeping soundly as if he didn't feel or hear anything. “Neither a bomb would wake him up,” he added, complaining.  
“I hate him. Wouldn't be surprised if he was able to sleep standing up... like horses,” Akel mumbled, rubbing his eyes, too tired to open. But he opened them wide shortly after: he had just had a great idea. He grinned fiercely: if he couldn't sleep, then why Leeroy could? He got up and went to the little bathroom after taking one of the jugs left on the table. Daniele kept looking at him doubtfully: since he was still half asleep he couldn't understand his friend's intentions. “The fuck you doing?”, he asked, seeing Akel come back with the jug full of water.  
“Waking up the bastard,” Akel cut it short, yawning.  
Hearing that, the Italian automatically jumped off the sofa bed, more awake than ever, holding out his hand to Akel. “If it's to be done, we'll do it together,” he said with a malefic grin.  
“You know we'll pay for this?” the Turk asked realistically. Daniele nodded. “But when will we get another chance?”  
They exchanged a knowing look before throwing the water in the jug at Leeroy's face. The black-haired guy gasped as if drowning and suddenly sat up, looking around bewildered. As he heard the other two laughing like crazy he started swearing. “What the fuck are you doing?!”  
“We should've taken a pic,” Daniele said, dejected for not having thought of it before.  
The British boy got up, swearing again after seeing the time. “What the fuck is wrong with you? No fucking way I'm driving you to the practise now.”  
“Are you going home?” Akel asked him; he worried a little because Leeroy was supposed to take him home. The Turk lived too far from the restaurant and the only idea of walking home made him panic.  
Leeroy nodded before grabbing his glasses from the side table and going to the toilet to wipe his face. He wasn't going away for the prank – he would have done the same thing if he were in their place – but because he needed to lie down without anyone hitting him every five minutes. Furthermore, all those bothers – if they could be called so – had thrown him in a bad mood, and that was the only thing he couldn't allow himself. As he entered the room again he saw Akel putting his shoes on, while Daniele was jumping on the sofa bed again, occupying it all by himself and finally falling asleep, not caring at all about his guests.  
“Can you drive me home?” the Turk asked, grabbing his wallet and his house keys from the table.  
“Okay, I was going to anyway,” Roy sighed, trying to keep cool. Before leaving the restaurant Daniele shouted: “Remember to come take me at 9! Or else no free beer next time!

They arrived at the practise ten minutes late; all three knew Stan would be furious, but the only thing they could think of was to run without stumbling because of their big sports bags.  
"This is the last time we get drunk the night before practise!" Akel said before opening the locker room door, falling on the floor after stumbling upon a pair of shoes left there by someone. The other two laughed. "The fuck you laughing?" he asked, rubbing his knee. "Get your ass up and hurry, if Stan sees us we're screwed” Leeroy snapped, while getting changed.  
“Who's the asshole who left his shoes here?”  
“Must be one of the newbies,” Daniele replied, disinterested.  
“You sure are great at faking fouls!”, the British boy joked.

Seeing those three coming late at the first practise was no news to Lance, but he preferred that by far than seeing Leeroy angry and trying to beat him up for no reason. Good start!, he goalkeeper thought while doing sit-ups. Since they had to get started before the true practise, Stan had put them in pairs to do push-ups, sit-ups, stretchings and other such things. They would only train their body until Mid-September. After that, they would begin the true football training. That month and a half would be really tiring. He was sure his comrades would give their best, and so would he, in order to be at first place in the league.  
Those three latecomers would be real fun: Lance could already see them run twenty laps around the field – and so it was. Stan, already in a bad mood, freaked out when he saw Leeroy, Daniele and Akel arrive late, evidently coming from a night of fun.

“May I know where the hell you were?! We started half an hour ago! … No, I don't want to hear anything. Twenty laps, immediately!” said the coach, barely trying to hold back his anger.

They had arrived late for a stupid reason that was to be attributed to Daniele: after getting ready and everything, he had fallen back asleep in the staff room and had not cared about waking up; Akel had to wake him up by throwing a glass of cold water in his face, leaving the Italian literally breathless and in a bad mood. Roy tried to take the lead and tried to explain his reasons, but Stan sent them to the locker room without letting them speak. After about five minutes, they were already out and were beginning their twenty laps.

“Daniele, do something like that again and I swear to God, next time it won't be a glass of water, but a bucket!” the Turk said, visibly irritated. He couldn't believe they had arrived late because of the Italian, usually it was Leeroy's fault.  
“Calm down. This kind of things happen, luckily Leeroy's got a car,” The Italian tried to clear himself. The damage had been done and then they had to run endlessly around that damn pitch.  
“I can't look after a narcoleptic! This time it's all your fault, Daniele, don't bug!” the British boy snapped.  
In the meanwhile, their teammates were enjoying that scene, laughing with each other; it was always a pleasure to see Leeroy get punished, especially if he deserved it. Lance stared at the trio for a few seconds, wondering if things would change since that moment, if Leeroy remembered their agreement. He was convinced that the defender had already forgotten it and that he had accepted back then only to avoid further discussions.  
"Don't stop,” Stan said to the goalkeeper, seeing him still and staring into space. Lance immediately resumed his exercise and the coach went on.  
"You think it'll be okay?" Miles asked; he was paired with Lance during that training. The goalkeeper looked at him with a little suffering look as a result of those endless series of sit-ups. "What do you mean?" he asked, pretending not to have understood. Miles gave him a irritated glance. "I mean, other crap and you're out. I'm speaking of both you and Rogers ... from what you told me things would get better. I hope so." At that point, it was the captain's turn to do sit-ups, so he lied down on the grass while the goalkeeper was holding his ankles still. "Will see soon if anything's changed. Now continue to train and stop talking, you're a gossip," Lance ordered, teasing his friend. "Oh, funny.”

In the goalkeeper's opinion, those three's only positive side was that, at least, they were fun, except for that fool Leeroy. He had seen him laugh only once or twice, while most of the times he was in a bad mood or with his head in the clouds, undoubtly dreaming of the Premier League. He couldn't help it, he couldn't stand that guy. He was hoping that someone from the new recruits would be better than him, so that he could replace Leeroy once for all. He would give anything to have a new left full-back and see Leeroy on the bench. Among the newbies he had noticed two guys who, in his opinion, stood out the most, but he wasn't sure yet, their abilities were yet to be seen. Among other things, Miles had just told him that that year the team budget was lower than the year before, so only a few guys would have joined the team, probably those two were among the lucky ones. One was tall, almost as tall as Lance, with a serious expression on his face; he had blond hair, a little long, shaved at the sides and gathered in a ponytail. Judging from his accent he had to be German... It was strange how that team was full of foreigners: after the Italian, the Turk, the Spaniard and the Pole, they really missed a German boy. He laughed to himself. The other one, on the contrary, was British, he was thin and quite short but that was only the outside. They were going to win that year, and if wasn't wrong, those two would totally suit the team.

*

After the practise Stan announced that budget issue: only five new players would be admitted in the team. After that discovery many of the newcomers looked hopeless; they would surely try with some other sports clubs that didn't have economic problems. After everyone had gone into the locker room, Miles went to the coach to ask for guidelines. He was feeling a little tired, which was not like him; sure enough it was because he had spent the whole summer lounging as he had never done before. The volleyball friendly match would take place in a few days and Abigail had, as everytime, called him to force him to go see her. Most likely he would end up inviting other guys from the team. He wondered if Stan had in mind a friendly match in the next few days as well, probably yes. "Tell me, Coach,” he asked, once having reached the man.  
“It's a shame not being able to keep all those guys. Up to now I've seen two that could do, Andrew and Viktor.”  
Miles was disoriented for a moment; he was convinced that Stan had more to tell him. "Have you called me just for this?"  
The coach looked at him annoyed because of the tone used by the student. “Do you think this is the way you should talk to me?” he asked jokingly.  
“I thought you had something important to tell me, just that.”  
“In fact it is so.” He took a break. “I am planning a friendly match with Ravensburg Academy. Their coach and I have already agreed on arranging it in early September.”  
Miles raised an eyebrow. A game against the team in which Oliver Sanders played was the last thing he would ever imagine. He wondered if Stan was out of his mind. He couldn't do such a thing, it was a suicide. Their last match, the finals against Ravensburg Academy, was probably the worst match they had ever played. It had been Lance and Leeroy's fault and he himself did not want to repeat that experience again, especially since he did not know yet how the defender would behave. Among other things, the rest of the team would not be very happy, they were still dejected for the recent defeat and didn't know how they would react to that news.  
“I know what worries you. Want to try shock therapy and show those kids that this year will be different. Don't worry," said Stan.  
The captain could not stop thinking it was not a nice idea. “I don't know... “ he said, scratching his nose.  
“The boys won't be told yet, let's keep it as a surprise for the end of the month.”  
“I don't like this.”  
“I'm sure it'll be fine,” the man said, smiling genuinely.  
Miles wondered exactly where the man took all that optimism from while leaving him to head to the locker room where, that day, there were more people than usual... way too many, in his opinion. He couldn't wait for those selections to be over; all those newbies around irritated him.

In the middle of the bunch of guys who were changing clothes, you could see a brown head rise above one of the benches in order to dominate the scene from above. “As you know, Spain won the European Championship by beating Italy four to zero,” Julio announced loudly, catching everyone's attention. "To this happy occasion, I decided to offer churros to everyone and sing a thing to Daniele! "

Daniel looked visibly annoyed , while all the others bursted out laughing, including Akel and Leero . “It was the coach's fault, they were all injured and - "

The Spanish boy did not even let him finish his sentence. “Cierto, cierto. Accept defeat and listen!"

"Wanna know where I'm gonna shove those churros of yours?!" the Italian shouted.  
"Pienso que un sueño parecido no volverá mááás-" he began to sing. “y me pintaba las manos lon cara d' azuluul! Y de improviso el viento rápido me llevóóó - y me hizo volar en el cielo infinitoooo...Voooolaaareee oh oh! Caaaantaaaareree oh oh oh oh!"

All around no one could stop laughing, while Daniele stayed still, thinking that the next time they would broken those Spaniards' asses.

"Don't you feel at home now?!" Julio asked, smiling as he was passing with a tray of churros and offered them to his teammates. Daniele shook his head; he would not be corrupted.

Akel and Leeroy, however, filled their hands of that Spanish specialty under Daniele's indignant gaze. "You traitors!" he growled. "Just wait till you come ask me something! You'll see how I'll send you to hell!"

Between him and the Spanish boy, things had just started; now he was waiting impatiently for the next World Cup.

*

Miles came out of that mess after about half an hour later, along with Lance, since he had to drive him home, but right outside the locker room he was tackled like in a rugby match from the libero player of the women's volleyball team. He fell to the ground with his sports bag.  
“You'll come watch the game, won't you?” asked Abigail who, unlike the captain, had not fallen during that action.  
“What the fuck are you doing?!”  
“Don't be a crybaby! Worse things happened to you during matches,” the girl replied, offering a hand to help him stand up.  
“Have you had nice holidays, Abi?” asked Lance.  
“Of course! Unlike you idlers, I've spent them playing beach volleyball and keeping in shape!” she explained, proudly showing the muscles of the arms.  
“She sure is in better shape than you, Reginald,” Lance joked, stressing his friend's name.  
Once up, the captain glared at the goalkeeper. “Should I start calling you red-head?” he asked in a seraphic voice. No one had no idea how much he hated his name.  
“C'mon Reggie, don't get it personal if your mother hated you so much to give you such a name,” Lance kept rubbing it on his friend, making Abigail laugh. At that moment Daniele came out of the locker room as well, together with Akel. “Why are you laughing?” the Turk asked.  
“None of your business,” Miles replied.  
Seeing those two other players, Abigail thought well of inviting them to to her friendly match.  
“Will you come see me play, together with Miles and Lance?” she asked in a overly dreamy voice. Lance wondered when he had accepted that invitation, which wasn't even extended to him, among other things.  
“Of course we'll come!” Daniele replied.  
Abigail looked at the time on her phone display and realized she was already late.  
“Hey guys, see you! Miles, can you drive me home?” she asked. She and the captain had known each other for a very long time, so the girl wasn't ashamed of asking favours from him. Miles frowned at her: first she knocked him down, then expected to be taken home. He had really missed Abigail and her liveliness. He snorted, resignated.  
“Okay, but you'll sit back, I don't want you to play with the radio.”  
“You sure are bad, if you don't want to drive her home we and Leeroy can think of that,” said Daniele, hoping to give the girl a lift.  
Miles looked daggers at him.  
“Let's go, Abigail,” the captain said, without even thinking; he would never leave the libero player with those two. As Leeroy finally came out as well, Lance had already reached Miles and Abigail after saying goodbye to the two centre-forwards.  
“You're so right about Miles. He's too stupid to realise about Abigail,” Akel said.  
“Excuse me... do you think I care?” he replied disinterestly; he had to hurry and go home to purchase the gift for the Italian.  
“How cute of you,” Daniele replied, heading together with his two friends to the defender's car.  
*  
Akel and Daniele's birthday took place that weekend at the Balboa's restaurant. Akel was happy to hold the party there, at least he would see Rebecca again; if only he had implied to Daniele that he felt something for his sister he would beat him up. Or else she would do that. She wasn't just an ordinary cute girl: she was proud, stubborn, self-centered and, above all, she hated football with a passion. The Turk perfectly knew he had no chances, but at least he wanted to make a good impression on her and not to look like an idiot as usual. He had even bought her a souvenir from his holiday in Turkey, but he was sure she would throw it in his head. He sighed sadly, leaning against the counter of the restaurant and sipping to his espresso. Beside him Daniele was busy playing to PSP, a gift from his paternal uncle. Akel liked videogames as well, but was not as obsessed with them as his best friends.  
“Mind telling me what's going on with you? Since you got back you look like a beaten dog” said the Italian, keeping playing to the console while chewing the straw of his Coca Cola.  
"Nothing, I'm just wondering where the hell is that fool Leeroy." he lied. Daniele looked at him with the corner of h eyes , he knew that something was wrong, perhaps affairs of the heart? Thinking of his best friend in love put him in a good mood. "Don't worry! I bet my ass he's still looking for something to give us”, the Italian joked. “I have that bastard Julio pay for his fucking serenade. How could him even think of singing Volare in Spanish to me?” he added nervously, thinking of the episode a few days before .  
"It was a beautiful," Akel said, pecking another glare on the other. Daniele thanked his lucky stars for not having seen the final of the European Cup with the others, otherwise they would make fun at him all the time. It would not have been good to see.  
The door of the room opened, letting in the English boy of the trio. "About time! Where were you at? "   
“Looking for a car park.”  
Leeroy noticed that Daniele's look was fixed on his shirt. “What's up?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. The Italian put his console on the counter and went to his friend, grabbing the electric blue bow tie he was wearing.  
“Tell me... what is this?”  
“A bow tie, a papillon...” he articulated well, as if he was talking to a newborn.  
“I know what it is, but... why the hell you put it on?!”  
Akel was looking at his friends without getting the point of the situation, which Leeroy wasn't getting as well. “What's your problem?” the British boy asked, already sick of it.  
“That thing,” Daniele replied, pointing at that accessory. “It's horrible, please tell me your mother forced to wear it!”. Then he bursted out laughing. “You look like a fucking waiter, if you want I can tell my father to hire you!”  
Leeroy looked up in exasperation; Daniele couldn't be so critical about his clothing style. He still remembered that time they went shopping together. He thought he had just ended up on the set of Confessions of a Shopaholic. He had sworn he would have never repeated that experience again.  
“Akel, when are the others arriving?” the British boy asked, intentionally ignoring his other friend. Akel took a peek to his mobile phone. “It's still early, they will arrive in a hour,” then he snorted.  
“What's up with you today?” Leeroy said, as stunned as Daniele about by Akel's seemingly bad mood.  
“Nothing. Just hoping not to drink too much, else my mother will really kill me.”  
If during the night of their return from their respective homelands they were slightly tipsy, they didn't know how that night wouldn't end up: they had the restaurant and bar at their complete disposal; Paolo or the other waiters weren't around. Leeroy couldn't help but think that Daniele's parents were really brave to concede it to their son, even though Rebecca, the most responsible between the two siblings, would have been there to supervise the situation.  
They spent the time waiting for the arrival of the other guys while playing with Daniele's brand new PSP and listening to music. Rebecca arrived shortly before the first guests' arrival, along with her friends; she headed straight to the buffet without even greeting the guests of honour.  
Akel found himself peek at her every now and then; he wanted to be able to give her the gift, but when he saw her disappear into the staff room, he decided to forget about it. The first ones to arrive were Miles along with Nicholas and Abigail. The captain walked briskly toward Leeroy and, after waving to the Turk and to the Italian, he dragged off the defender with an excuse. As they were on the shelf, he finally spoke: "I've already hidden the gifts in the refrigerating room, I had asked permission to Rebecca. At a certain time I am sending you to get them, okay?" he asked.  
"Yes, but couldn't you do it?”  
"They're your best friends,” the captain replied, getting rid of him.


	4. 4

The party was a huge success but it wasn't over yet; the two guests of honour had not received their gifts yet. Unfortunately Miles was nowhere to be found and Leeroy did not have the faintest idea of where those presents were supposed to be found. He had been looking for the captain everywhere, making his way through the restaurant, crowded by lots of boys and girls, but he seemed to have disappeared. He thought that he probably was somewhere spewing his guts up because of all the alcohol gobbled down throughout those hours. Eventually, after he had also gone out on the street to look for him and had called him on the phone, he gave up and decided to go get those damn birthday gifts by himself. When he walked into the refrigerating room - which, in his opinion, was huge - he had no idea where to get his hands. He wondered how much stuff was in there: each of the three walls was filled with shelves that were taller than him; which was remarkable, considering he was almost six one inch tall. “At the very least that jerk put them on the top behind those boxes,” he mumbled to himself. He tried to stretch as much as he could to get to move the boxes and see if what he was looking for was hiding right behind there. His efforts were useless.   
He began to swear at Miles; he definitely was somewhere making out with the libero player. "Yeah, and I'd be the irresponsible one here!" he said through gritted teeth for the effort to stretch himself again.   
At one point, he heard the door open. "At last! Now, where the hell have you been!? " he blurted out, thinking it was the captain coming back from whatever he had been doing.  
"What are you doing?" he heard, from a person who clearly was not Miles, but the last from whom he would ask some help.  
"None of your business," Leeroy cut short, trying to move the boxes without success for the third time, but at some point a hand came to his help. From the corner of his eye he saw Lance behind him, who was helping him against all his expectations.  
"Do you need anything else?" the goalie asked disinterestedly.  
Leeroy turned to face his teammate, and he felt a rush of heat come to his cheeks; he didn't know if alcohol was to blame, or it was simply embarrassment. He could not stand the him, and he hated to be in a spot with him even more. That heat bothered him; he hated hot temperature with every fiber of his being, he just could not stand it and just did not understand how he could feel hot right now. He stuttered, as if dazed: "It's... very hot in here.”  
He was given a skeptical look in response. “We are in a refrigerating room." Lance highlighted well the last two words. He wondered if that idiot also had flaws to the thermoregulatory centre of his brain.  
Shortly after, Leeroy returned to his senses and told the goalkeeper to go to hell; Lance eye-rolled, realising he had already spent too much time with the defender. He grabbed a bag of frozen beans and put it on the elbow of his left arm, catching Leeroy's interest.  
"What did you do?" he said curiously; he was usually the only one beating Lance up, he didn't remember the goalkeeper getting into fights with anyone else.  
"Guess what? " he asked, sarcastically.  
"Nicholas and Drew?"  
"Those two idiots and their bloody great ideas. Rather... what are you doing here? Are you actually feeling hot?" he asked, referring to Leeroy's previous words.  
"Reginald's hidden the gifts over there... and I can't get there," he said, feeling a little uncomfortable. Leeroy was a very tall guy, but Lance was the tallest of the team, being over six feet five; many opponents were often frightened by him during matches.  
"I had figured it out," the goalie replied flatly, putting the frozen packet back to its place and taking the gifts from above the compartment. They had eventually bought what they had already decided that time they had gone out all together to play football, namely: a new sports bag with a pair of football shorts for Akel, and a CD of Italian music and a sweatshirt for Daniele. The two were already given the joke gift at the beginning of the party. They had laughed seeing those sex dolls, even though they had felt a little embarassed, especially Akel.  
He quickly handed out the packages to the defender, then told him to hurry because they were going to bring the cake. Leeroy was left in the refrigerating room, flazy because of Lance's weird kindness.  
If it could ever be defined as such.

The real problem that night was the guests' ride home, especially for Miles, Abigail, Nicholas, Lance and Leeroy. The only one who hadn't drunk anything at all was the goalkeeper, while the others were quite tipsy and the defender was disgustingly drunk. In fact, after giving the presents to Daniele and Akel, Leeroy had decided to knuckle down with his best friends: vodka and Red Bull. At the end of the evening, the person who went in front of the rest of the team was a guy who people would willingly kick because of all the crap he mouthed off. They all agreed to use Miles' car, leaving the defender's at the restaurant; they didn't want to start the championship with one player less.   
Leeroy was thrown on the back seat by Nicholas, who then sat on his left side. Abigail, sitting on the full-back's right, was trying to keep him awake. When they left the place, it was past 5 AM. They were on the way to Abigail's house when the keeper had the brilliant idea to turn on the radio. He switched radio stations several times, finding nothing that would satisfy him until, after hearing one of Bonnie Tyler's songs and moving ahead, he heard the defender call him.

"Put it back, c'mon!" Leeroy shouted almost enthusiastically, leaning forward between the two front seats to try to reach the radio and put the song he wanted to listen to. He succeeded. The refrain of Total Eclipse of the Heart spreaded into the stereo speakers. The left full-back settled between the two seats and leaned forward again to see the road better and began to sing. 

“And I need you tonight noooow! And I need you more than eeeever!" 

Miles rubbed his eyes, trying not to fall asleep, and he was sure that he would have the worst headache ever after that farse. 

“And if you only hold me tiiiiight, we'll be holding on foreeeeveeer! And we'll only be making it riiiight-" Roy almost started yelling in the ear of the driver, following the high notes of the song. All that alcohol had reduced him to a true mess; under normal circumstances, he would never, ever start singing Bonnie Tyler. Especially in front of one of the people he hated most.  
"Please, get him off me or I swear, I'll brake and make him fly in the middle of the road!" Lance yelled, annoyed by his teammate's behaviour.  
“Cause we'll never be wroooong! Together we can take it to the end of the liiiine, your love is like a shadow on me all of the tiiiiime-"   
Unfortunately for him, Leeroy couldn't finish his performance, since Abigail hastily grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the seat. But the girl could not help but laugh after seeing to that scene: she knew Leeroy was unbearable, but he could be real fun when drunk.  
The goalkeeper could not help but sigh in relief.   
"He's likely to kill us," Nicholas remarked while looking at his drunk friend, who growled as he leaned his head on Abigail's shoulder, telling her goodnight. The libero player looked at him puzzled. "This idiot has fallen asleep!" she said, laughing.  
“The concert must have been exhausting,” Nicholas joked. 

After driving Abigail and Nicholas home, the second last to get out of the car was the captain, who managed to get to the his own home's door even though reeling a little. "Are you sure you can take that dead weight home?" Miles asked, looking for the keys in his jeans pockets. Lance massaged his temples: he was truly starting to feel tired. He glanced fast to the back seats, where the defender was sleeping, all curled up: he really had to feel uncomfortable, the goalkeeper thought. "Don't worry, I'll carry him if he doesn't wake up.”  
"See you then”, the captain said, tucking the key into the hole of the door.   
Lance waited for him to go inside before starting up the car again. He gave another glance behind, through the rear-view mirror, hoping that Rogers would wake up. He had no intention of carrying him. As they arrived in front of the defender's villa gate, in Roedean Road, the keeper sighed heavily. "Wake up.”  
The other, in whole response, turned his head to the other side, grunting. "Move your ass, Rogers!" He wouldn't get up to help him.  
Leeroy finally opened one eye. “Where are we?" he mumbled, taking off his glasses and rubbing his nasal septum. He cursed himself for not having put contact lenses on. He was sure he already had a bad wrinkle.  
“You're home, arsehole.”  
Lance saw him sit up with his head in his hands, he had to have an headache as well; everyone would sure feel like crap the following day because of all that alcohol. "Please, don't make me get out to help you," he said, annoyed.  
"Don't bug, I'm leaving,” Leeroy sighed. Once in his room, he was sure he wouldn't fall asleep. Each time it was the same old story: he would stay in front of the TV and zap, trying to get to sleep; same the day after. He fumbled for the car door handle. "See you," he said, before getting out.  
Lance followed him with his eyes. Something suddenly popped up on his mind, so he called Leeroy back. "After this, I owe you only a favour."  
Leeroy looked at him puzzled, but then he realised what the other guy was referring to. He nodded and headed to the gate without looking at the keeper any longer. "Next time, food." He felt like an idiot for not being able to formulate a perfectly constructed English sentence, but he knew that it was to blame on alcohol and sleepiness.  
Lance nodded before starting up the car again that night, driving away.

As he arrived at his neighborhood it was already past 6 o'clock. He pulled over in front of the building he lived in. Living in Whitehawk, the most degraded area in Brighton, was not the best to expect in life, but he did just fine there; he never felt uncomfortable like when he went visiting Miles in his beautiful neighbourhood for happy families. Thereabout was even the risk of being stolen from the underwear with pants still on. Fortunately for Miles, Lance was known where he lived , and no one would ever dare to steal the car parked at the side of the road. The moment he turned to unfasten the seat belt, he heard someone tap on the glass; he hoped it was not the old lady who lived near there who suffered from insomnia and always minded about the whole neighborhood's business. As he looked up, unfortunately for him, he didn't see that old woman, but his own mother, Gabrielle. From the smile that disfigured her face into a grimace, Lance immediately deduced that she was drunk. He would have never expected her to go close and say hello; or, rather, he didn't just expect to see her.   
“Honey, where are you going?” she asked, stumbling on her way-too-high heels.  
“To sleep.” He did nothing but reply as he got out of the car, heading toward the building door. Gabrielle reached him in small quick steps, careful not to trip over, and grabbed him by his shirt.

“Honey, would you please lend me your car? You know ... I have to drive a friend home," she said, with a false, huge smile. His mother smelled of alcohol and smoke, and heavy makeup on her face was smudged; black eyeliner and mascara, which garnished her grey eyes, was dribbling down on her red cheeks. He hadn't been able to look at her for some years now, since his father had gone away, jilting them with lots of debts.   
"No, Gabrielle, I won't. Come home," he replied in a tone which brooked no objections.  
He saw the usual malignant light flickering in her dull grey eyes, ready to bring back chaos and lies.  
“Is this your way to thank me for bringing you up?!”, was the woman's indignant reply.  
Lance rubbed his temples . He didn't want to start the umpteenth fight, he didn't listen to the umpteenth senseless speech and, above all, he didn't want to live with that woman he once used to call his mother any more.  
"And is this your way to thank me for paying all your nights out with your little friends?! This is my house! It's thanks to me if you always have something to eat!", she started yelling. The neighbours did no longer care about all those noises and screams; in that each district, everyone had their own problems. Lance's was to have an alcoholic mother.  
“Shut up, I owe you nothing! Now come in!” the son shouted out loud.  
The friend, who Gabrielle had mentioned a few minuted before, stepped forward to give her strong hand.   
"Boy, do as your mother tells you and don't bug, why don't you go play with toy cars!? Give us the fucking keys!" he thundered against the young man.   
Lance knew guys like him very well: unemployed alcoholics just like his mother, good for nothing who believed they ruled the world just thanks to a bit of alcohol in their veins.  
He looked at his mother and at that anonymous guy in the eyes before sending them to hell, ready to go up to his flat. He would not have wasted any more time with that dregs of society. He heard the man laugh and giggle about something that Gabrielle had said but that he could not hear.   
"You're such a faggot," the man yelled, "Go cry in your bed!"

The patience that always made him stand out from other people completely vanished after that sentence. He hated his mother, he hated his life, he had sweared at himself several times for allowing all that to happen. But now things couldn't get fixed, it was all lost, every link and every hope for happiness. The arm automatically lifted without him realizing it; the fist hit Gabrielle's friend in the face, breaking his nose. Still unsatisfied, with the anger that had totally blinded him now, Lance continued to repeatedly punch the man, who had already fallen on the ground after the first hit. Gabrielle screamed scared, then prayed for her son to let him go.  
“Lance, stop! You'll kill him!”, the woman cried hysterically. The make-up, carried by the tears, stained her face even more.  
“You're a monster, let him go!”. She clinged to her son's back, trying to get him to stop. He kicked the man on his ribs one last time. He hadn't stopped because of his mother's cries, but because the fear of really killing that asshole had sneaked into his heart after a few seconds. Gabrielle immediately threw herself on the man lying on the ground, who was dripping blood.  
“How are you? I'm so sorry!” she cried softly, looking for paper tissue in her bag to wipe away all that blood.  
“Lance! What have you done?!” she began to whine like a little girl.  
The young man got in the car without even looking at the desperate woman who called him, and drove away at full speed.  
The man lying on the ground seemed to recover." Go away, you stupid bitch! Your fag of a son is crazy!" he shouted, pushing her away and trying to stumble away.  
“Lenny, where are you going!?" Gabrielle asked, astonished.  
“Away from you, bitch! " he yelled back the man, ditching her in the middle of that desert street.  
*

Stan's gaze was fixed on his players. He was sitting on the bench and he was playing with the lighter, opening and closing it as if he could help it. He was thinking.  
He had already chosen two of those newbies, but he didn't know what role to assign them yet; they were strong, so he couldn't waste them as simple reserves.  
He put on his tracksuit jacket; in the last days it had begun to get a little cooler outside.  
The boys kept training without complaining; August was almost over and, sooner or later, he would have to announce the news about the friendly match. He did not know whether to be amused or worried, unable to imagine the reaction those guys might have. An amused smile crossed his face. He wanted to be the one to give the great news, hoping that gossip of the captain had not already told someone. Lance already knows it for sure, he thought, or maybe not? He reflected on the fact that that would have been tough for the keeper to face those guys again. But he was mature enough, Lance knew his duties. Than he could not bother about him. His biggest problem was the left full-back: he had already decided not to place him on the field. He wanted to see if he had grown up, at least a little bit. He could not afford to have childish and selfish players. He laid his thoughful and worried gaze on the boy at issue: Leeroy was doing sit-ups together with the Italian. At first blush he seemed calm, but in his eyes he saw the light of revenge fiercer than ever. It would have not been easy for him.  
“Stan, I'm sorry. I have to go home earlier today.”  
The coach turned, realizing only after a few seconds that the goalkeeper was watching him from the top of his height. For Stan, who was a tall man himself, every time it was like being in front of a giant. "Yes, of course” he replied, in a bit thoughful tone. But then he called the red-haired boy back: he had noticed that Lance was nervous in the lasy days. Way too much. “Has something happened lately?”  
The goalkeeper raised an eyebrow, surprised by that question . He sighed before answering.  
"Problems at home , as always." he confessed. He was not afraid of talking about his family issues with Stan: the man was like the father that he never had and was able to get him out of an abyss of depression thanks to the sport and his encouragement.  
“You know, if you need some spare time...”  
"No!" Lance replied immediately, without even letting him finish his sentence. "I need to train... or else I'll go crazy.”  
"Alright," the man said, patting on the boy's shoulder.  
As soon as Lance had left he kept looking at the other players for a little more before calling them and announcing the end of that day's workout.

*  
He had fallen asleep with headphones on the night before and he had forgotten to take them off. He threw them off as if he had to uproot weeds. He had to stop to listen to the same old song over and over again as if none else existed in the world. The notes to Iron Man by Black Sabbath continued to resound at full volume. He lazily rubbed his eyes and turned off his iPod. He observed that it had to be early in the morning, since dim light was coming through the windows that the night before he had forgotten to cover with curtains. Oddly enough, he wasn't feeling sleepy anymore: he couldn't hold his liquor, but at least he always sobered up in a few hours of sleep. He took off the sheets and felt a bit cold but he didn't care, he liked that feeling in the morning. There were people who usually holed up in bed when feeling a hint of fresh breeze on their neck; he liked it, on the contrary. Actually, it made him wake up in a good mood. He went down to the kitchen but found no one. He didn't wonder where his mother was, for all he knew she could also be at work. He set up the coffee machine to prepare espresso before sitting down on one of the stools next to the peninsula kitchen and starting to read a magazine, waiting to hear the distinctive sound of the coffee when ready. His mother came in at that moment.  
"I'm talking to Maurice on Skype. He wants to talk to you”, the woman said, humming as she poured some orange juice into a glass.   
Leeroy frowned, surprised. "Dad?" That had been a while since the last time he heard of him. Because of his work, Maurice was rarely home, as a biologist he spent the time to save seals and penguins at the South Pole.  
"When the coffee is ready call me. I'm going saying hello in the meanwhile”. He stood up and walked into his mother's study, next to the kitchen. He saw his father on the screen of Amanda's laptop, on the desk. He was writing something on some papers. Leeroy thought that it had to be about his research results.  
“Dad, how are you?” he asked after sitting down. The man was so taken with his things that he did not hear him. Leeroy slightly got annoyed. He had always hated being ignored, especially by his father.   
"Maurice, there is your son that wants to talk to you, are you even listening?" he asked rhetorically, in a little high and frustrated tone. The man startled, then looked up to the computer screen as well, a little surprised. "Oh, hi.”  
His hazel eyes, like those of his son, narrowed slightly. Without glasses he could not see up close. He must have forgotten them somewhere like always, was the boy's thought.  
“How is practise going? How's Stan doing?" the man asked, putting his paperwork from one side of the desk in front of which he was sitting. Roy noticed that his father's face looked run down. Staying in Antarctica had to be no walkover.  
“Everything's fine” he replied, without going into details.  
“When I come back we'll go scrambling, alright?”, the father asked. “How are things doing with your mother?”  
Leeroy's glance was more than eloquent for Maurice. He knew that his wife had his ways of dealing with their son; he hoped that the latter wouldn't care much about that, but unfortunately Leeroy had begun not to stand her as he grew up. Amanda tried to help him with her way of behaving like the professional psychologist she was, but she actually obtained quite the opposite.   
"Do not worry about the things she does or says, but it's still your mother." The man blinked.   
"Said the man in Antarctica”, Leeroy replied sarcastically, putting a smile on his father's face.  
"Hey, I didn't run away."   
"When are you going to come back?"  
The man's face lit up at the question. “Probably at Christmas holidays”  
Leeroy felt happy, he finally would spend time with Maurice; they had not been together since the previous Christmas. His father had left for Antarctica in a hurry a couple of years ago, glad he finally got the job he had always craved for.  
"Finally!" Leeroy sighed, trying to keep ahold of himself.  
"One thing, son”, the father said, catching his son's attention again. The man's eyes hardened. "If you do something like the crap you did last New Year's Eve and, I swear, when you finish school I'll take you here with penguins and fuck football."   
Leeroy soon remembered Maurice's threats were never unfounded; if he had promised him that, then he definitely ended up in Antarctica with him. He rolled his eyes in despair, he didn't want a lecture from him too. He already knew that he had behaved badly and stuff, but didn't see how getting scolded by him too could change things. In fact, things had changed a little bit already, but he was not sure yet. Maybe having spoken with Lance that day had helped move those imaginary, huge walls they had build up between them to keep the other away.  
At the end he nodded without replying. He said goodbye to his father and then turned the video-chat off with a sigh.   
He went back into the kitchen where an on-cloud-nine Amanda was talking to herself, already planning on how to beautify the whole house for Christmas. Now that her husband would return home her usual moodiness would soften a little. Or at least so hoped the defenser. After drinking a cup of espresso he walked back to his room. He had no desire to turn neither his laptop nor his X-box on. He snorted, undecided on what to do. At the end he grabbed his iPod, wore the first bathing suit he found in his closet and went to relax into the Jacuzzi in the garden. The air was cool even though it was still August. He rested his head against the edge and began to listen to his playlist. He wondered if he was just kidding himself after that conversation with the keeper. The memory of last New Year's Eve came back to his mind. He did not know if that had been whether the worst or the best night he had ever spent. A slight smile crossed his lips. He covered his eyes with his arm, the sun was beginning to bother him. Both he and Lance had ended up in hospital that time: the defender with a broken wrist, and the goalkeeper with a cut on his hand. It was hard to remember the reason for their fight...

 

The glass, which until then was in his hand, flew to the ground and shattered, dirtying the floor of alcohol and Red Bull. Some of the young people present at the scene were amazed, others, however, who knew the two protagonists, just stayed impassive and a little annoyed. Miles, although a little tipsy, could still think straight; in fact, he wondered for the umpteenth time that night who had had the brilliant idea of inviting Leeroy to the party. He stood on the sidelines watching, not even considering of getting between the two boys to stop them. Lance had taken the defender by the collar of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. Throughout the whole evening, since they had arrived, they had never ceased to tease each other with sharp words or bump into each other pretending nothing. Surprisingly enough, the first to give in was the goalkeeper. He had found Leeroy unbearable from the first moment he had seen him, he irritated him and challenged him with every word or move. In the end it was too much for him . That last sentence made him go off like a time bomb that had completed its countdown. The words still echoed in his head. " “Poor thing! No money to get yourself something to drink?", the newcomer defenser had mocked him.

Leeroy was disoriented for a few seconds due to the other guy's sudden movement; moreover he also felt numb because of the alcohol he had drunk. He was feeling as if he was locked in a bubble with the whole world outside; the sounds were muffled and his reactions slow. He didn't immediately recover. It was a punch from the red-haired guy to wake him up, which made him fall to the ground on one side. He immediately sensed the typical metallic taste of blood on his tongue. The bastard had split his lip.  
He pulled himself on his feet with difficulty. The second punch caught him off guard causing him to fall again. His black glasses ended up on the floor, away from him. He tried to stretch to grab them, but he felt carried away by the legs; alarmed, he tried in vain to cling to the floor. The boys were laughing all around, including Miles, who was hiding in a corner of the room, trying not to be recognized. Lance lifted Leeroy bodily and put him up on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The defenser began to curse. "Shut up, asshole! Now I'll throw you out, at least you'll stop doing being such a spoiled son a bitch!" the keeper insulted him while taking the stairs down to the ground floor. The black-haired one continued to curse and began to flounder, trying to get off, but Lance had a strong grip, he wouldn'tt leave him for anything in the world. "Calm down, princess”, he teased.  
"Fuck you!" he growled in response.  
"Fuck," he growled in response.   
Finding no way to get rid of the keeper, he ended up biting him on his thigh, who started ranting and screaming as well. "Let me go, asshole!"  
Lance slackened the defenser's legs off who, falling forward, put his right hand forward to try to shelter himself, but ended up unloading all his weight on his wrist. He let out a groan of pain. He pulled himself on his feet and grabbed Lance by his shirt, throwing him on the ground. "Asshole, you've broken my wrist!" the defenser yelled, now overwhelmed by anger. Thus he began to kick the red-head, who still disoriented; it was as if his senses were turned off for a few seconds, leaving him defenseless. But he was strong and he recovered. At that moment Leeroy sat astride on him, throwing punches everywhere: on his face, on his chest and on his stomach. Lance spat out blood. He was feeling suffocated, he couldn't breathe. That occured to him whenever he was in extreme situations. He began to cough and spit more blood. Leeroy had broken one of Lance's teeth; the latter could feel it in the corner of his mouth. He spat it too. He hated being put on the spot, he hated those attacks that suddenly plucked and cut his breath. He recovered before another blow could hit him on the ribs: he blocked the other boy's hand and, with a last-gasp effort, he reversed positions, kicking his knee in Leeroy's stomach. The brunette gasped and writhed on the ground in pain, breathless as well. Lance pulled himself away from him and stretched out as far as possible from him. He heard quick footsteps approaching. Miles stepped beside him with a bottle of water and asked him how he felt.  
"I could do better”, he gasped.  
The captain's look became insistent."I'm taking you out," he asserted, before helping his best friend up.  
Leeroy remained on the ground, between groans of pain and curses. He could not stand to lose, and that was a bitter defeat. Just touching his wrist made him scream with pain and that was the same for his face. He felt it burn as he was breathing hardly. Only after a few minutes he managed to pull himself on his feet and, staggering, he leaned against the wall. The boys stood around speechless; no one had expected a Fight Club-like scene. Daniele arrived at this moment with James, the team's other centre forward, to help Leeroy.  
"You're such a jerk!” the Italian said, as outspoken as usual.  
The defender sighed angrily.  
"Damn it, shut up! Tonight's not the night!" Leeroy thundered.  
"Don't start fighting, you brats! You'll drive you and Lance to the first-aid" James said in an annoyed tone of voice, pulling out his phone from his jacket's pocket.  
The goalkeeper did not even look behind him as he went out to get some fresh air, but he clearly felt the defenser's gaze pierce his back. Things would not have ended so soon between those two.

*

A feeling of helplessness and fear had the best of his limbs. He could not wake up. That horrible feeling did not leave him. He opened his eyes and found himself in the Jacuzzi. The Black Sabbath had kept playing in the headphones, still on his ear. He could not remember what he had dreamed of, but the emotions he felt he had been glued on him just as if he had just lived a bad situation. As if that dream had been real. He hated feeling helpless, not being able to be master of his own actions and his own feelings, he hated feeling adrift. Every time he had the nightmare of not being able to move on the field, getting stuck for who knows what strange fear. He was afraid that, all of a sudden, his legs would have decided to not respond to nerve impulses in his brain, leaving him to himself, to his fears with the worst part of himself. It was not yet time to face his fears though, he would have had control of events, he would not be overwhelmed by his anger and phobias like the last time. He took off the headphones with a abrupt movement and ducked in the tub, holding his breath. This gesture calmed him down. He liked to hold his breath, trying to break his limits, trying to beat his own body. As he emerged, he put his headphones on and tried to calm himself by changing the song, opting for something more relaxing.


End file.
